


The Best is Yet to Come

by firegrilled



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Again, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Single Father Caspar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firegrilled/pseuds/firegrilled
Summary: Several thoughts ran through Caspar's head when someone knocked on his door at the crack of dawn:1. Why was Linhardt awake before lunch?2. Why was he holding a baby?3. What did he meant that the baby was his?AKA Caspar has fatherhood thrust upon him by his best friend's careless actions right before the timeskip and decides to leave everything from his classmates to his secret, budding relationship so he can raise the child. But the goddess has other plans for him and Ashe.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 46
Kudos: 90





	1. Prologue: Accidents Happen

**Author's Note:**

> A knock from Linhardt at the crack of dawn never bodes well.

“Linhardt, what you’re proposing sounds preposterous,” Professor Hanneman spoke, his voice heavy with sleep. His eyes focused on the markings his student was currently etching into the floorboards of his office near his Crest Identifying machine. Long shadows danced on the walls from the candlelight.

“I’m aware of how it sounds but if those ancient documents I read in Abyss are true then think of the doors that could be opened in the field of Crestology! The ability to not only guarantee crests in offspring alone would be valuable!” Linhardt paused to repeat his ideas with the one man in the monastery that could appreciate them.

Professor Hanneman tweaked his mustachle as he considered those words.

“While I am excited to see something truly motivate you these are still very much theories that require more research and experimentation. How do you propose even testing your hypothesis? And why does it involve my device? This is a very expensive piece of equipment.”

Nodding along, Linhardt continued to explain while he scratched more symbols around it. “According to my studies similar devices sensitive to crests used to exist long ago and were originally used by an ancient race to proliferate.”

“That’s a rather bold statement to make but interesting if true. That still doesn’t explain how you intend to verify your hypotheses.”

Linhardt laid his knife down and clapped his hands together. He stepped back and reached for his bag.

“That’s simple. As we both know this device is very sensitive to the area around it and even the slightest change in runes around it can make it inaccurate. We’ll have to replace the floorboards once we’re done.”

Hanneman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m well aware. But again, how-”

The professor stopped speaking when Linhardt held up two toothbrushes.

“By gauging if the device is still accurate after I’ve added my runes. If the results are still accurate then there is merit to the theory that will require more research. There should be enough genetic material on these to verify if the device is still sensitive enough to pick up crests,” Linhardt explained, placing a toothbrush over the crest device.

Both men looked down to see the runes around the crest device begin to glow faintly as the machine’s screen flashed for a moment, revealing the crest of Saint Cethleann. The screen blanked out but the runes continued to glow.

“Well, it recognized my crest so that’s a good start,” Linhardt noted, taking the toothbrush back and pulling out his notebook. He started to scrawl some notes while his teacher stepped forward. The runes now faded.

“Perhaps but it could also be a false positive. Here, let me try,” Professor Hanneman offered, hanging his arm over the device.

Like before the runes glowed around the machine and a crest of Indech appeared.

“Remarkable, it still seems to work,” Hanneman smiled until he noticed the glowing runes getting brighter. A prickle of magical energy created goosebumps on his skin and sent a shiver down his spine. “Interesting, I’m feeling a surge of faith based magic from the device. That was never in my- oh!”

Linhardt watched as Professor Hanneman pulled his arm back quickly when the runes started to hum. “What’s the matter, professor?”

“I don’t quite know. I felt a spike in the magic so I reeled back on instinct. Perhaps it has something to do with a stronger genetic source?”

Writing the speculations into his notebook, Linhardt waited for the runes to fade once more.

“Interesting. Well we still need a true negative,” Linhardt stated, pulling the other toothbrush out. As he stepped forward Hanneman watched. “I borrowed this from Caspar who has no known crest.”

“Then let us see if there’s some truth to your theory.”

A sense of excitement and wonder overcame Linhardt as he dropped the toothbrush on the crest device.

Even Professor Hanneman leaned forward in anticipation as the runes glowed once more and the device came to life.

“There’s no better feeling than testing a potential new breakthrough, right professor?” Linhardt asked as the device displayed a blank screen.

“Indeed! And it seems your idea may prove true just yet. A negative!” Hanneman declared. He walked over to Linhardt and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good job, Linhardt! You may well be on your way to your first major breakthrough!”

Linhardt gave him a gentle but proud smile. “Thank you for letting me test with your device, sir.”

While the two congratulated each other, neither noticed the runes continue to glow or the crackle of magical energy around the toothbrush.

“Of course! Anything that could potentially revolutionize the field is worth testing! Why, I do say I’m quite excited to see- wait, do you feel that?”

Hanneman stopped midsentence when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He glanced back to see the runes around the device now shining brighter than before, magical lighting crackling around the machine and toothbrush. The toothbrush began to glow a soft blue as energy flowed into it.

“What is-” Linhardt stared in wonder until the toothbrush began to hum with life.

Hearing the foreign sound, Professor Hanneman grabbed Linhardt’s hand and pulled him towards the door.

“Quick!”

The two ran out on pure instinct, shutting the wood door behind them. They managed to get just down the hall when the thrum of magic grew audible in the stone corridor. As they turned the corner a loud blast rocked the monastery. A cloud of dust surrounded the pair as a rush of air blew by.

Linhardt pressed himself against the wall with Professor Hanneman as they waited for the debris to settle. When it quieted down they glanced at each other and carefully made their way back to the professor’s office. Sounds of people rushing and echoes confused chatter picked up.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t have done this in the dead of night,” Hanneman commented as they returned to his office. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the door was still on its hinges but still flung open. A patch of blacked ash coated the inside wood.

“Nonsense, research waits for no one,” Linhardt disagreed as they reached the doorway. Peering inside he saw scraps of metal flung into bookcases and littering the floor. “I might be replacing more than the floorboards. I may owe you a new device, sir.”

“Oh no, no no no no no no…” Professor Hanneman began to panic, running into his office.

Despite the blast the floor seemed to remain intact, at least the part that wasn’t a smoldering cloud.

Linhardt took a step in but froze when the tiniest wail cut through the silence. The student and professor exchanged wide-eyed looks as they walked through the cloud and stopped just short of the source of the noise.

Hanneman took off his scarf and used it to fan away the smoke, eventually revealing a crying baby. The professor paused to take in the sight, his blood turning cold.

Linhardt covered his mouth for a moment until a sense of accomplishment overtook him.

“Professor, it worked!” Linhardt all but yelled, earning another cry from the baby.

A mixture of expressions crossed the professor’s face as he processed the events going on. As the sound of footsteps grew louder in the hallway he bent down and poked the baby’s belly gently. That got the little guy to stop crying and giggle.

“Oh my, he’s real,” Professor Hanneman confirmed. He knelt down and began to wrap the baby in his scarf to protect it from the elements. Standing up he brought the little boy over to Linhardt. “Incredible! This validates your theory.”

Though the pair couldn’t make out much in the candlelight but they could see it was a pale child with a very light tuft of hair on its head.

“A child created solely through magic… my, the applications will be astonishing! No more need for regular childbirth, a new means to test Crestology, oh and-” Linhardt began to list.

“Is everyone okay? What’s going on here?” A concerned Professor Manuela asked from the doorway, her normally impeccable dress askew and several stands of hair out of place.

Soon a pair of guards appeared next to her.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. Just some research gone awry,” Hanneman explained, gesturing to the smoking floor. “We’re terribly sorry for the disturbance.”

Upon hearing that Manuela exhaled a sigh of relief and ran a hand through her hair, effectively straightening it out.

“Well that’s good. I heard an explosion from the infirmary and got scared. Glad I won’t be having any more patients,” Manuela replied. Her eyes drifted down to the bundle in Hanneman’s arms and she tilted her head. “What’s that?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean this.”

Hanneman shifted his arms to reveal a quiet baby, staring at Manuela with big, cloudy eyes.

Manuela blinked twice before her jaw dropped slightly.

“Is that… why do you have a baby?”

Linhardt beamed proudly and took a step closer.

“We made him! He’s the next step in the field of Crestology!”

When Hanneman nodded in agreement Manuela’s jaw slackened further.

“E-excuse me? You two made a baby? But, huh?”

Manuela’s eyes bounced between the two as she pointed a finger at Hanneman and another at Linhardt.

It took Hanneman a moment to realize what he just implied. His face quickly reddened and he suddenly waved his arms in front of him defensively.

“N-no, not like that at all! It’s a magic baby!” Hanneman hastily explained, earning a quirked eyebrow from Manuela. “Linhardt here found some notes that suggested it was possible and we were testing his theory with my crest device. Something went amiss and my machine exploded. When we returned we found this boy amongst the smoke.”

At the mention of himself the baby yawned and smiled at Manuela.

The longer Hanneman explained what happened the more Manuela’s face dropped. She looked to the guards for affirmation. When they shrugged their shoulders she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re both aware of how odd that sounds, correct? Though it does explain the noise I’m a bit taken aback. Does this make you the boy’s fathers? Does he have a name?” She asked.

Now it was Linhardt’s and Hanneman’s turn to pause. They opened their mouths at the same time but no words escaped them. Eventually Linhardt piped up.

“Well, yes and no? I carved the runes and it was Professor Hanneman’s device but the material that created the baby came from someone else. And no, we haven’t name him. We weren’t expecting a child this fine evening.”

Resting her hands on her hips, Manuela narrowed her gaze at the pair.

“Material? Are you saying this child is actually related to someone?”

Linhardt quickly nodded.

“Yes. Though he doesn’t know.”

That piece of information caused Manuela’s eyes to widen once more.

“Excuse me? Are you telling me you created a child for someone without their knowledge or express permission?”

Linhardt raised a finger but paused to consider his words. “When you put it like that it sounds bad. But much like myself this child was entirely an accident. We didn’t anticipate-”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Manuela interrupted. She turned to the guards to wave them away. “Let the others know everything here is fine. I’ll deal with these two. And don’t tell anyone the details. Just say it was a research mishap.”

“Yes, ma’am,” one the guards reply, both of them saluting before taking their leave.

Turning back to the other two Manuela glared at them.

“Anticipated or not you both crossed many lines tonight. Never mind the trust violations. You brought a child into the world right as Adrestia plans to attack us in the coming week. How do you plan to care for him? What are you going to do now? Can you imagine how Lady Rhea would react if she knew?”

Both crest scholars stared at the ground, the consequences of their actions finally dawning on them.

“What do you mean ‘if’? Aren’t you going to tell her?” Hanneman asked.

Crossing her arms Manuela finally stepped into the room. She closed the door behind her and spoke quietly. “You’re lucky she’s in the cathedral tonight speaking with the goddess. I don’t believe this news would do her any favors and I’m afraid of her temperament after the attack on the Holy Tomb last month. Her reaction… it terrified me. I know the archbishop to be a generous woman but even I heard Seteth questioning her about professor Byleth’s origins and he wasn’t happy with her. Seteth. This is neither the time nor place.”

Hanneman frowned but nodded along with her reasoning nonetheless.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I suggest you decide how to care for the child, tell his father, and name him. And I say this next part with the utmost respect, but whoever is his caretaker should flee before the battle. This is no place for a child during the upcoming conflict.”

Linhardt scratched the back of his head as he pondered his options.

“Perhaps I should take him back to my home. I created him so it should be my responsibility.”

Hanneman shook his head. “You’re still quite young and caring for a child is no easy task. Perhaps I should take my leave with him.”

“Or,” Manuela spoke again, still frowning at the pair, “You tell his father so he can make a decision. He’s been left out this entire time and deserves to know. Who is it, anyways?”

The baby let out a quiet yawn, drawing everyone’s attention.

Manuela’s expression softened at the cute display.

“That would be Caspar,” Linhardt answered, causing Manuela to choke on air.

“Oh goddess have mercy on this poor child.”

\---

Hearing a boom echo from outside the training arena, Caspar paused his punch mid-swing. He stood over a downed Felix, quirking an eyebrow.

Seizing the moment, Felix swept his legs and knocked Caspar into his back.

“Ow! No fair!” Caspar yelped, throwing a glare at his sparring partner.

“All’s fair in war. Don’t get distracted or it’ll cost you your life,” Felix advised him. He got to his feet before offering his hand, which Caspar readily took.

Caspar was hoisted to his feet and dusted himself off.

“Round… I think I lost count,” Caspar chuckled, earning the faintest smirk from Felix.

“Tempting but we have class in the morning. We gotta be prepared, mind and body, for the end of the month.”

At the mention of the upcoming battle Caspar’s stomach clenched. His smile fell and he sighed.

“Yeah, you’re right. Goodnight, Felix. Same time, same place tomorrow?”

Giving Caspar a curt nod, Felix opened the doors out of the training ground. “Night. Until then.”

Caspar exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding until the coast was clear. He folded his arms behind his head and walked back to the dorms. Thoughts of the upcoming battle left him queasy. His body walked on autopilot as he pondered about it.

Though Caspar wasn’t part of the other classes he still had many friends across them. Felix and Raphael were amazing sparring partners, Professor Byleth treated him as one of his own despite being him not being a Blue Lion, and of course there was Ashe.

As if on cue, Caspar noticed where his body had taken him. He shook his head as his lips crept up into a smile. Candlelight peeked out from under the door, warming Caspar’s heart. Raising a hand, he did two swift knocks followed by a brief pause and then another three in quick succession. He chuckled lightly when he heard a squeak from inside the room.

“Just a moment!” Ashe’s voice called back.

The door cracked open, revealing a sliver of Ashe’s face. Recognition flashed across it and a smile tugged at his lips. Quietly, the door opened and Caspar wordlessly slipped in. Ashe closed it behind him, latching it shut.

Caspar made his way for Ashe’s bed and threw himself on it with a soft thump.

Ashe rolled his eyes but his expression didn’t change. He returned to a seat at his desk where a book laid open next to flickering candle. Taking a discarded piece of paper, Ashe marked the page and shut the book.

“So, what brings you by at this ungodly hour?” Ashe asked, earning another muffled sigh.

Caspar rolled onto his back, running a hand through his hair.

“The battle is two weeks away,” Caspar stated matter-of-fact, his voice sounding exhausted.

Upon hearing those words Ashe’s happy demeanor soured. He straightened in his seat and crossed his arms.

“It is. You still have two weeks,” Ashe replied back.

Caspar frowned, letting his arms falling fall to his sides.

“I don’t wanna think about it.”

Ashe bit back a scoff, shaking his head. He leaned down, undid his shoes, and kicked them off. Using the chair’s armrests he hoisted himself up and walked over. He glanced down at Caspar, a gentle expression on his face.

“You’re going to have to eventually,” Ashe informed him, earning another groan but this time Caspar made eye contact. Caspar’s tired blue eyes met Ashe’s warm green ones.

“Tomorrow Caspar can think about it. Tonight Caspar wants to relax.”

Ashe laughed at that, his eyes crinkling.

“Well, I can help with that.Too bad Kyphon isn’t here to enjoy your company.”

Crawling onto the bed, Ashe climbed over Caspar. He rearranged himself so he rested his head on Caspar’s chest, staring quietly at him.

“That cat only likes me when I bring him food.”

Caspar carded his hand through Ashe’s soft hair.

“Maybe. But I think deep down he really adores you. I know I do.”

Blushing at the words Caspar felt his stomach twist.

“I’m sorry,” Caspar sighed, his lips tugging down. “About having to hide this.”

“No, we’ve been through this. No apologies. We both agreed to this.”

Ashe squished his face into a small pout, causing Caspar’s breath to hitch.

“Stop, you’re doing that on purpose!” Caspar complained, placing a hand over Ashe’s mouth. He almost melted when he felt soft lips brush against his calloused palm. He pulled his hand back.

“This is our secret. If the others knew… Well that’s something I don’t care to think about. Let’s just enjoy ourselves, as we always have.”

At that Ashe pushed himself forward until they were face to face, only centimeters apart.

Caspar pressed their foreheads together and grinned from ear to ear.

“And that’s why I like you.”

Pink dusted Ashe’s cheeks as locked gazes with Caspar.

With that they closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together. Candlelight cast their shadows against the wall as they melded together.

\---

Caspar awoke the next morning with a warm body pressed against his back and a heavy arm slung over his chest. This was a comfort he’d grown to crave recently. The first beams of sunlight colored the ceiling of the room. With a long sigh he wiggled free of Ashe’s grasp. A soft grumble from the freckled boy brought a dopey smile to Caspar’s face. He used the last of his restraint to go to the window and open it.

With a quick glance Caspar confirmed no one was there and hopped out, quietly shutting it behind him. He snuck back around the corner of the dorm and dashed for the stairs. As he climbed the stairs a particularly loud creak caused him to pause. His eyes bounced around to confirm that no one was there and then he bolted to his room.

“Made it,” Caspar sighed. He kicked off his shoes and threw himself on his bed.

As soon as Caspar hit the pillow he heard a knock at the door.

“Caspar, are you awake?” Linhardt’s voice came through the door.

“Mmh?” Caspar yawned.

Why was Linhardt awake this early?

Why was Linhardt awake?

Considering the noise enough of a greeting, Linhardt unlatched the door and stepped through.

“Caspar, we need to talk,” Linhardt stated, carrying something in his arms.

“Huh?”

Caspar rolled over and rubbed his eyes.

“Good news, I’ve made a revolutionary breakthrough in the field of Crestology!” Linhardt’s expression lit up, brightening Caspar’s in turn.

“What, Really? Congrats!” Caspar offered a tired grin. He sat up in bed, his hair splayed in different directions.

“Yes, yes it is! But, there is a caveat,” Linhardt spoke though his voice waned at the end. Pausing midsentence he mulled over his next words. “There was an unintended… consequence to this breakthrough.”

“Hm? What does that mean?”

Linhardt bit his bottom lip before shifting his frame so Caspar could see the bundle in his arms.

Caspar’s eyes took a moment to focus on the sleeping face of a baby, peacefully napping. He blinked a few times to confirm what he was seeing.

“We made a baby,” Linhardt confirmed the thought on Caspar’s mind.

“H-how?” Caspar responded with his jaw dropped, baffled by the statement. “You and Hanneman?”

“Yes but no. It’s a magical baby. We created him but he isn’t related to us,” Linhardt began. Seeing Caspar tilt his head he continued. “Well, you see, this theory involved testing genetic material with Professor Hanneman’s crest device and suffice it to say an accident occurred which resulted in the creation of this new life.”

“Linhardt, that’s Dagdan to me. What are you saying?”

Caspar scratched the back of his head, scrunching his face. He leaned closer to the baby and softened his expression again.

“We used genetic material and magic to create the baby. It came from someone.”

“Really? Sounds complicated.”

“Oh yes, the runes and magics are fascinating but getting the genetic material was relatively simple. I just pilfered your toothbrush from your room when you were training,” Linhardt explained, as if he were discussing the weather.

The casual remark almost went over Caspar’s head. He snapped to attention when he registered it.

“Come again?”

“Your toothbrush, I used it for genetic material. In fact, it was the catalyst for creating this baby. By all traditional definitions this baby is yours.”

Caspar’s face immediately fell at those words.

“Uh, what?”

Linhardt shrugged and offered a half-smile. “We were testing for a negative result with your toothbrush and one thing lead to another which lead to an explosion which lead to a baby. You know, scholarly things.”

Giving Linhardt his best deadpan stare Caspar replied, “You’re joking, right? You exploded a baby into existence?”

“Honestly, it’s rather poetic for your child,” Linhardt chuckled, though he stopped when he noticed Caspar not laughing. “What?”

Caspar averted his gaze from Linhardt and stared at the baby. As much as he wanted to ogle the sleeping bundle his body had other plans. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach had him trembling. His palms felt sweaty and words failed to form on his lips. Instead he held his hands out, to which Linhardt gently handed the baby over.

When the baby made contact with Caspar’s arms, a jolt of electricity shot into new father. He stiffened up and almost jostled the baby. “Ouch!”

The baby’s eyes opened at the sudden reaction, its lips starting to tremble. Before it could cry Caspar pulled it close and began to comfort it.

“Shh, don’t cry. You just shocked me is all,” he cooed, uncharacteristically soft.

Even Linhardt quirked an eyebrow at the sight. Much to his surprise the baby let out a giggle.

The noise sent a chill down Caspar’s spine, somehow soothing his nerves. It was the most pleasant, innocent sound he had heard in ages.

“Caspar?” Linhardt tentatively asked, puzzled by his friend’s reaction. “When did you get so… paternal?”

Narrowing his eyes at his childhood friend, Caspar frowned.

“When my so-called best friend brought me a baby and said it was mine. I don’t know everything but I did help my mom with my younger siblings.”

“Ah, right. I forgot about that.”

Caspar stared at Linhardt with mixed emotions.

“So what’s the plan for him?” Caspar wondered.

“Well that’s up to you,” Linhardt began, flinching a little bit when Caspar gave him a harsh glare. “Professor Manuela made it very clear that you should name him and decide how he should be taken care of. Whoever is his caretaker would then flee the monastery as it’s not the place to be during the upcoming battle…”

The more words that Caspar heard the more his heart clenched. He sat there pondering what Linhardt said but tuned him out after a while. A name? Caretaker? He’d been struggling with a decision to stay and fight or to flee like so many others had. A child was far beyond the scope of his current worries but now it was quite literally dropped into his lap.

Another giggle from the baby pulled him from his stupor.

“I… I don’t know.”

Nodding along, Linhardt continued.

“Well, if you don’t want to care for him then either myself or Professor Hanneman will be more than willing as this was our fault. Professor Manuela is preparing a care package for whoever needs to flee with enough supplies to make the journey to any city,” Linhardt informed Caspar. When he noticed the troubled look on Caspar’s face he realized he forgot to mention something important. “I almost forgot, I apologize for thrusting such a life-changing decision onto you so suddenly.”

When Linhardt spoke those words he quickly recoiled from the icy glare Caspar sent his way.

Caspar shook his head.

“No, you’re not.”

Linhardt froze at the curt reply.

“Huh?”

“You’re not sorry, Lin,” Caspar repeated, his voice low and tinged with sadness. “You took something from me without asking and exploded it into a baby. And you’re telling me it’s my baby. Friends don’t do that, Lin.”

“Caspar, it was an accident. A byproduct of my research-”

Linhardt tried to elaborate but quieted when Caspar hardened his gaze. Now he felt guilt creeping up his neck, a foreign emotion when chatting with his best friend.

“Accident or not, you did this. You took away my choice,” Caspar continued, a hint of anger in his tone.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t anticipate a baby coming from your toothbrush. It was a toothbrush, Caspar, not your blood or something more genetically rich,” Linhardt tried to defend himself but found words harder to come by the longer he felt Caspar’s intense glare. “You still have a choice. I’ll take-”

“No!” Caspar snapped again, causing the baby to scrunch its tiny face.

Linhardt’s blood froze in his veins.

“N-no?”

“No. I don’t have a choice. I can’t leave him with you or anyone else. I don’t trust you.”

That statement pierced Linhardt like a dagger to the chest.

“Caspar, I can help. I’m your friend.”

Linhardt reached a hand out but flinched when Caspar shook his head.

“Friends don’t do this. I can forgive so much, Lin, I really can but- but dropping a baby in my hands? I can’t cut my way through this problem. I can’t beat it into submission. This isn’t some test or bruise. This is a new life…”

Caspar pressed his lips together as he glanced back down to the baby.

Linhardt’s heart almost shattered when he saw a stray tear go down Caspar’s cheek. Only then did he realize the gravity of his actions.

“Let me help, please,” Linhardt begged.

Caspar steeled himself once more and gave his friend a stoic expression. “Tell Professor Manuela to bring whatever she made here while I pack up.”

A very distant part of Linhardt should’ve felt relief that he didn’t have to take care of a child but it was overshadowed by the sea of guilt he felt himself drowning in.

“O-ok. I’ll bring Professor Manuela back with the kit.”

Linhardt stood back up though his legs felt like lead weights. It hurt to move to the door.

“Lin, just send her here. Please don’t come back.”

A look of hurt flashed across Linhardt’s face.

“But-”

Caspar’s gaze silenced him once more.

“No more buts. This is goodbye.”

Linhardt held his breath and nodded, giving Caspar a tiny wave. He glanced back down at the baby and offered it a weak smile.

“Goodbye, Caspar. And… baby. Good luck.”

Linhardt quietly closed the door behind him, slumping against the wall while he tried to regain the feeling in his body. He knew he needed to get to Professor Manuela quickly but the sound of broken sob froze him in place. He almost thought it was himself before he realized how muffled it sounded.

Though the door he heard Caspar’s voice, “Everything is going to be okay, I got you. Everything is going to be…”

Linhardt sprinted out of the floor when Caspar started bawling at the end of his reassuring words, the new father probably speaking to himself more than his infant. He glided past early risers, bumping shoulders with a few students, and nearly tripping over a napping Cyril. Faces blended together, worried stares passing without notice as he collapsed at the edge of the dock.

Teardrops splattered into the water below as Linhardt stared into the pristine lake. Through the ripples he saw how his own face now contorted from sadness, something he rarely experienced. He couldn’t even recall the last time he cried this hard. His knuckles turned white as he clutched the edge of the dock for dear life, the world spinning around him.

Linhardt achieved the breakthrough he wanted though the price he paid was far steeper than he wanted.

\---

“And I left some books on the bottom in case I didn’t cover everything. This should get you to any one of the major cities,” Manuela finished her long explanation, crossing her arms.

They stood by the gate of the monastery, the morning crowd just now starting to file through.

“Thank you, I think I’ll be good,” Caspar smiled, scratching the back of his head. “This is more than I expected.”

Manuela sighed as she took in the sight in front of her.

Caspar was dressed in his uniform with an almost comically large backpack. In his front the baby was swaddled in Professor Hanneman’s scarf and tied in another sash so Caspar could still use his arms. While the baby slept comfortably, the new father was a different story.

Manuela noticed but did not comment on the red swelling around Caspar’s tearstained face.

“I fear its not enough,” Manuela frowned, causing Caspar to drop the thin veneer of happiness.

His façade crumbled under the weight of fatherhood.

“You changed his diaper, that’s more than enough,” Caspar weakly joked.

“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. You’re taking this much more serious than I expected. You don’t deserve to be in this situation but,” Manuela took another breath. “But you’re starting off on a strong foot. If you ever need anything please don’t hesitate to contact me. As the Black Eagle professor I’ll miss your enthusiasm. Do you really wish to not say goodbye to the others?”

Caspar shook his head with enough force to whip his short hair around. He glanced back at the monastery and bit back another sob.

“I don’t want to explain this. And there’s no way I could make it out of here without bawling so I’m leaving on my own terms. I just wish there were some I could’ve said that to…”

Caspar’s mind flashed across his classmates but one sat in his stomach like a rock.

As if reading his mind Manuela asked, “Is there anyone in particular that you want me to talk to?”

“I wanted to thank Dorothea for her kindness… Felix and Raphael for their sparring… I’m going to miss Ferdinand and his stupid noble talk and- and I’m going to miss Ashe and Kyphon,” Caspar began to list as the tears came to his eyes once more.

Manuela felt herself tearing up at seeing one of her strongest students begin to breakdown.

“Okay. I’ll let each and every one of them know you said goodbye,” she said as she wiped away the tears threatening to fall from her face. “Do you know where you and your baby boy are going?”

Caspar shook his head once more, sniffling.

“No, but we’ll figure something out. Might go home but everything is unstable in Adrestia.”

Manuela nodded, taking a moment to calm herself.

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

Caspar stared at the sleeping child and a tiny smile formed on his face, despite the tears.

“Yeah… I was thinking Caspar Two,” he began, earning an ugly snort from his teacher. “But then I thought Marcus sounded cooler.”

“Marcus von Bergliez, that’s a beautiful name. I wish you both the best, and again if you need anything please reach out. You’re a dear student to me.”

Caspar gave her one last teary-eyed stare before giving one of his toothy grins.

“Thank you, Professor Manuela!”

With those last words he turned to leave, ready to start a new and unexpected chapter in his life.

While his professor waved her goodbyes, neither noticed Linhardt staring from further back by some stalls.

“Goodbye, old friend,” he mumbled.


	2. Papa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time stops for no one, whether Blue Lion, Black Eagle, or a baby.

Sunlight crept over the covers and tickled Ashe’s face, stirring him from his slumber. A loud yawn escaped him as he stretched out, rolling onto his stomach. He took a deep breath and the faint scent of Caspar brought a smile to his face. His eyes fluttered open and glanced at the window. It hung crooked over the sill.

A bittersweet feeling swirled in his head.

“He still doesn’t know how to shut it,” Ashe giggled to himself.

He laid in bed a bit longer before the voice in his head told him to get some training or work done finally coaxed him up. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he grabbed a bag and a change of clothes, making his way for the sauna. He’d long since gotten used to waking up to a scalding steam.

On his way across the monastery Ashe caught sight of Mercedes and Annette chatting. He casually waved to them as he ascended the steps to the sauna.

Inside he quickly undressed to just his towel and took a seat, soaking in the heat. He leaned back against the wood and closed his eyes. His ears took in the ambience and the conversations of the other students.

“Did you hear more students fled?”

“Yeah, I’m probably going too soon. Fighting the Adrestian army? No thanks.”

Hearing such words caused Ashe to wrinkle his nose but he couldn’t exactly blame them. The odds weren’t exactly stacked with the church, even with the Knights of Seiros.

After taking as much as he could Ashe grabbed his belongings and went to the washroom. He changed into fresh clothes before trying to find his toiletries.

“Hm? Where’s my toothbrush?” He wondered as he rifled through his bag. Unable to find it he took care of his other tasks. Once he was all prim and proper he dropped his belongings off at his room.

Ashe hummed a joyful tune while he walked to the Blue Lions classroom, pausing to glance into the Black Eagles. It was a small but comfortable part of his routine to find Caspar to put a smile on his face. However there was no trace of the blue hair amongst the dark colors of the classroom. This stopped Ashe in his steps long enough to hear Professor Manuela addressing the class.

“-and as such is gone. He wished for me to pass along his thanks and warmest wishes before departing.”

Even from out in the courtyard Ashe felt the oppressive melancholy from the class room.

“Why did he leave suddenly?” Ferdinand’s voice spoke up. “And without saying goodbye? That isn’t the least bit courteous or noble, even for him!”

Manuela exhaled a deep breath.

“Circumstances changed faster than he anticipated and he had to make haste.”

Ashe quirked an eyebrow but before he could continue on his journey he made eye contact with Manuela. At that her face fell but she gestured at him. The other Black Eagle students glanced over their shoulders at him. He was surprised to find them a mixture of sadness and anger.

Ashe tilted his head, pointing at himself. When Manuela nodded he came forward.

“Yes, Professor?” He asked, his voice uncertain. 

“I have a message to pass onto you from Caspar. He departed from the monastery this morning and wished to thank you for your time together with… Kyphon I think?” Professor Manuela explained.

Upon hearing those words, Ashe paled. A chill travelled down his spine and froze his legs in place. He replayed those words in his head until he could coherently process them.

“E-excuse me, but Caspar left?” Ashe replied weakly. When Manuela nodded Ashe’s body started to tremble.

“Yes. As I was saying to the others his circumstances changed abruptly and he had to make haste. Thanks for being a friend to him despite not being in our house.”

Ashe broke off in a sprint back to the dorms, his heart pounding the entire way. His stomach slowly twisted itself in knots as he drew closer. He ran up the stairs to the second floor, the spot reserved for those of noble birth. He barely registered some of the other students in the hall, including Sylvain and Felix who seemed lost in conversation.

Felix watched Ashe sprint by; he quirked an eyebrow, but did not acknowledge him.

In a rare display of no manners, Ashe flung open Caspar’s door without knocking.

“Caspar?” His voice weakly called out to the empty room.

Ashe surveyed the room, finding it oddly organized. The bed was made, the desk empty save for some scraps of paper, and the window was open with a gentle breeze blowing warm air. The clean room only quickened Ashe’s pulse.

“No…” Ashe spoke, walking in. He opened Caspar’s closet and found it more or less empty. A few extra uniforms hung around.

Stepping back Ashe noticed a few library books left in a stack on the floor but otherwise no sign of Caspar.

Ashe fell back against the wall as a torrent of emotions went through him. First sadness washed over him as he sunk to the ground, followed by a wave of confusion.

“Why, Caspar?” he muttered, not recognizing the sound of footsteps by the door.

“Ashe, you okay?” Sylvain’s voice called in. He stepped inside to see Ashe staring hollowly at the ground.

“Y-yeah, just surprised,” Ashe replied, trying to keep himself together. He felt the prickle of tears burning at his eyes but he kept them at bay. He didn’t want to have an emotional response in front of his classmates. Questions about the nature of his friendship with Caspar were the last things he wanted or needed. “Caspar. He… he left today.”

“He did what?!” Felix’s voice cut through the fog clouding Ashe’s mind. “That little liar.”

“Huh? What’s gotten into you?” Sylvain asked Felix.

“We were supposed to spar again tonight. Guess I’ll have to find Raphael,” Felix grumbled, taking his leave down the hall.

“Hey, wait!” Sylvain called after him, though he stayed in place by the door. “Are you going to be alright, Ashe? I know how-”

“Yes!” Ashe cut him off, louder than he intended. He flinched at his own words but nodded anyways. “I’ll be fine. I’m just… surprised.”

Sylvain frowned but glanced back at Felix. “Okay, but if you wanna talk, you know where to find me.”

Ashe heard Sylvain’s steps crunch along the carpet down the hall. He sat on the floor replaying the previous night, trying to see if he missed anything from their encounter. Ashe’s brain nitpicked the small details: the words they exchanged, the touches, even Caspar’s reactions. How did he not see this coming?

Once Ashe felt like his body wouldn’t betray himself, he stood up and trudged down the hall. He descended the steps at a less than ideal pace, but any faster and he risked tripping. On his way back to his room, he bumped shoulders with someone, pulling him from his thoughts for a moment.

“S-sorry… Oh, Linhardt!” Ashe perked up.

“Ah, Ashe, it’s no problem,” Linhardt mumbled, seemingly as distracted as ever.

When Ashe stared at him, he swore he saw tear-stained cheeks. After he blinked Linhardt had changed angles and he chalked it up to the lighting.

“Actually do you have a moment? I have a question,” Ashe asked.

Linhardt gave him his best bored expression but nodded.

“Huh? What is it?”

“Do you know why Caspar left today? Professor Man…”

Ashe’s words died on his lips as a look of shock flash across Linhardt’s face. His classmate was rarely expressive, let alone to that degree.

“No. No I do not,” Linhardt replied too quickly, his eyes dropping to the ground.

Despite the harsh tone Ashe caught a hint of regret in Linhardt’s voice. Sensing it was a sensitive topic, Ashe pressed his lips together.

“I see. Well, if you hear anything please let me know.”

Linhardt didn’t reply to that, instead taking the last few steps to his room and shutting the door behind him.

Though he couldn’t prove anything a small part of Ashe suspected something more. However, he never got the chance to find out more with a battle just around the corner.

Time marched on and that year at Garreg Mach Monastery faded into the flames of war. The memories spent honing battle skills, making meaningful friendships, and even the fleeting moments with Caspar all became dreams of a better time for Ashe, now long gone.

\---

The scraping of metal on metal echoed around the encampment, the last sound a bandit heard as a swift swing of an axe cleaved his head off his shoulders. Blood streamed down the remnants of the man’s neck, staining his armor as he crumpled to the ground. The bandit’s counterpart narrowed his gaze and roared.

“You’ll pay for that you filthy-!”

He was cut short by the same axe flying forward. Bone crunched under the weight of axe imbedding itself in the man’s skull.

The last bandit fell to the ground, silenced by steel.

“Whew, all done,” Caspar declared as he stepped over a small pile of bodies. He wiped the dirt and sweat from his brow while he walked through the camp’s to the biggest tent. When he walked by the last bandit he pulled the axe from his head, cleaning the blood on his already stained armor.

He sheathed the weapon before entering the tent.

“Ah, stop! Please don’t hurt me!” A young girl screamed at Caspar, freezing him in place. A look of utter terror contorted her face as she shook like a leaf in the corner of the tent, her hands bound by rope.

Caspar held up his hands and replied in a calm tone.

“I’m not here to hurt you. Are you the councilman’s daughter?”

The girl paused for a moment.

“Y-yes?”

Giving her a reassuring smile, Caspar pointed to his chest.

“Good, I’m here to rescue you.”

When she heard those words a broken smile appeared on her face.

“R-really?”

Seeing her start to calm Caspar slowly approached and went for a dagger on his belt.

“I’m going to cut your bindings, okay?”

“Please!”

With a confident grin Caspar stepped over the furs on the floor. He knelt down next to her and slipped the blade between the coils, easily slicing through the fibers. As soon as the bindings hit the ground the girl wrapped her arms around Caspar.

“There, there, everything’ll be fine now,” Caspar spoke, patting her on the back.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

After a few moments the girl climbed down. To Caspar’s surprise she ran to a box in the corner, flinging it open. She rifled through the belongings before pulling out a bag that clinked with metal.

“Are you okay?” Caspar asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Yes,” she stated, returning to his side. She handed him the bag. “Payment from them.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Caspar chuckled, quickly tying it to his belt. “Well let’s get back, your father is really worried about you.”

“Yes, please!”

The girl clung to Caspar’s arms as he lead her out the tent. She briefly looked at the camp, immediately grimacing upon seeing the remnants of battle. She pulled herself closer, hiding her face in his arms.

Caspar guided her through the camp and to the woods. As soon as they were out of sight Caspar leaned down, whispering into her ear.

“It’s okay, we’re out of there.”

The girl waited for a few seconds before slowly pulling back. She looked back, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You’re my hero, brave sir knight! What can I call you?”

Caspar chuckled again.

“My name is Randolph.”

“Thank you, Sir Randolph!”

She tightened her grip, giggling as they returned to her village.

“It’s just Randolph, but you’re welcome. I’m only a mercenary.”

Feeling her grip tighten, Caspar glanced over briefly to see the girl blushing.

“Well, you’re a knight to me.”

When the pair returned to the village the pair were greeted with cheers and hollers. The councilman came running forward as his daughter dashed to his arms. They met halfway, crying and muttering supportive words.

Caspar watched with a content smile on his face, his hands resting at his side. His moment of peace ended with a young shout.

“Papa, you did it!” A tiny voice called out.

A small child emerged from the crowd, running past the father-daughter pair.

Caspar grinned widely at the flash of silver hair, kneeling down to catch him in his arms. “Hey, buddy. Of course I did it! I’m me!”

Getting lifted in the air, Marcus laughed and cheered. “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Caspar’s heart melted a little at the display, somehow never tiring of Marcus’ enthusiasm.

“In a sec, little guy. Papa’s gotta finish up,” Caspar laughed, spinning the boy for a moment.

Marcus’ grin didn’t falter, instead growing to show a few crooked teeth. He was missing one of his front and one of his side teeth.

Caspar had to suppress another wave of laughter as he lowered his son.

“Randolph, please, take this. You’ve more than earned it!” the councilman stated, stepping forward to give a small pouch of gold.

“Thanks, I got a bonus for you,” Caspar replied by taking the pouch and giving the bag the man’s daughter gifted him earlier. “A gift from the bandits who won’t be bothering you anymore.”

A look of awe flashed across the daughter’s face at the selfless act.

“Wh- are you sure? I’ve gained quite a bit more from this endeavor than you have!”

“Of course, I was paid for task. That’s plenty. That along with food and lodging has been more than enough.”

Caspar didn’t miss the moment his son hugged his leg.

“Well, this still calls for a feast. Come, we must celebrate this great day!”

Caspar picked up his son and followed the villagers back to town, surprised to find tables set up and a bonfire already prepared. In no time, at all kegs were brought out from the inn and food laid out on the tables. Taking a seat alongside the councilman and his fellow leaders, they made small talk while everything was distributed and Marcus hummed a tune.

“Hey, Marcus?” Caspar whispered into his son’s ear.

Marcus stopped what he was doing and looked at his father with big, blue eyes.

“Yes, papa?”

“Why don’t you play with some of the other kids tonight? We’ll be going tomorrow.”

Marcus scrunched his face, hiding his smattering of freckles surprisingly well. He pouted.

“B-b-but we just got here!” he complained.

Caspar’s heart sank a little, but he shook his head. He ruffled Marcus’ hair.

“I know, but we gotta. Go have some fun.”

“Okay…” Marcus frowned, sliding down from his father’s lap. He took off towards the nearest group of boys who were play fighting, recreating the brawl that Caspar surely just undertook.

A mug of beer was slammed on the table in front of Caspar, startling him out of his thought. He looked up to see the councilman with a proud smile.

“For the hero, let us toast!” he announced, gesturing to everyone.

Caspar joined the rest of the village in raising his mug, his cheeks turning pink from the attention.

“Here, here!” Everyone declared, almost in unison.

“Here, here!” Caspar echoed back, lowering the mug to see everyone copying his movements. When he realized they weren’t drinking, he took a swig of the beer. He suppressed a gag at the bitter taste, something he was still growing accustomed too.

A raucous laughter broke over the village as the others began drinking, eating, and shouting to each other.

Memories of banquets back at Garreg Mach filtered back into Caspar’s mind, flattening his smile. He took another gulp of beer to pull himself out of his thoughts. A hand hit his back and almost sent the drink all over himself.

“So, Randolph, what are your plans now? Have you thought perhaps of settling down?” The councilman asked, taking a seat next to Caspar. He waggled his eyebrows at the last question.

Caspar choked that time on his drink, prompting another few pats on the back from the councilman. He looked over to see some of the village girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling as they ogled him from another table. Caspar averted his gaze while his blush deepened.

“Oh, uh, I was going to return to Leicester territory. I have some obligations there.”

The councilman nodded, his mouth dropping to a frown.

“I see, I see, well we will wish you the best. If you ever need a place to stay you’re always welcomed here,” the man informed Caspar. “Though I feel I must warn you.”

Caspar paused gulping down his drink to glance at him.

“Hm?”

“I’m not sure you’ve heard but the great war seems to have taken a turn.”

Caspar furrowed his brow, setting down his drink.

“What do you mean?”

“Well it seems after five years the Kingdom’s army has rallied. Rumors say the king has returned along with his vassals and they’re crying for the Emperor’s head.”

Reaching for the leg of a cooked chicken, Caspar pulled it closer. He took a bite as his mind went back to the Blue Lions. A pang of regret shot through his chest at memories of certain silver haired archer.

“Really? What happened?”

The councilman nodded, taking a drink of his own mug.

“Yes! In fact, they took the Great Bridge of Myrrdin recently. Forces are gathering at Fort Merceus and across the river. I fear there will be a clash soon,” the man rubbed away a few drop of beer on his chin with the back of his hand. “If you’re going for Alliance territory you might want to pick your path wisely. I suggest going around the conflict.”

That news sent a chill down his spine. He stared into his mug, watching the bubble rise.

“That’s going to be a pain.”

“Indeed. It is a bit out of the way, but perhaps cutting through Gronder would be best? 

Caspar sighed, taking the advice in stride.

“You might be right. I haven’t passed through there in years but it might be far enough away to avoid the conflict.”

“Have you considered joining her Majesty’s army? I’m sure a warrior as skilled as yourself could rise through the ranks and make a name for yourself!”

Caspar vehemently shook his head at that suggestion.

“No, I can’t.”

Caspar’s eyes looked over to a nearby clearing.

A bunch of the kids were running away from Marcus who had a foot on another kid’s body. The kid laid on the ground with their tongue lolled out, feigning a dramatic death. Marcus let out a loud laugh and chased after the nearest group of kids. In the sunlight, his hair looked almost blue.

“I understand,” the councilman sighed, a content smile on his face. He clapped Caspar on the shoulder and continued. “Children have that effect on you. They change your lives, don’t they?”

Caspar chuckled at that, swirling his beer for a moment,

“Yeah, they do.”

He gulped the rest of his drink down.

\---

Amidst the rubble and crumbling cathedral, Ashe knelt with his hands interlaced. His eyes were closed as he spoke barely above a whisper.

“Goddess, please watch over us during the oncoming battle. Guide us to victory and allow those who can’t to make it to pass mercifully,” Ashe requested. He remained on his knees in silence a bit longer to relax in the privacy of the once holy building.

Footsteps echoed throughout the stone interior, barely drowning out the sounds of the orphans outside and various monks performing their duties.

Content with his words, Ashe arose and walked towards courtyard on the side of the cathedral. He walked pass the future king of Faerghus, who stared ever forward at the statue of the goddess. Always looking at ghosts only he could see.

Ashe exited the church to see Sylvain leaning over the railing, his chin resting in his hand at he observed the display down below. 

Felix stood in the grass with a group of kids with wooden swords in hand.

“Slash, pull, stab, pull!” Felix barked orders, demonstrating the moves with his own training sword. The kids mimicked his moves with their own shouts, punctuating each strike.

Ashe walked over to Sylvain who had a pleased smile on his face. The red head didn’t turn to acknowledge Ashe as he stood next to him.

“Finally got him to agree to help with the orphans? What did you do?” Ashe wondered with a quiet chuckle.

“This was all his idea,” Sylvain deflected the idea. “A way for him to ‘practice the basics’.”

Ashe suppressed his laughter at Sylvain’s Felix impression.

“No matter the reason I’m sure they appreciate it. Getting to practice with a war hero is something I hear them talk about all the time,” Ashe spoke. Leaning against the stone railing, his smile fell. “Ever since his Highness stopped training them, they needed someone. And the Professor is too busy leading the war…”

Sylvain’s mood soured at the mention of Dimitri. An easy smile found its way back onto Sylvain’s face, but Ashe knew the difference between his practiced smile and a genuine one.

“Dimitri will come around, eventually. Once we have Edelgard’s head on a spike he should be happy.”

That suggestion left a bitter taste in Ashe’s mouth. He averted his gaze to the orphans, watching them. Almost every day, their numbers seemed to grow. He watched a white haired one make a rather strong slash and stab into the ground.

“Do you truly think so? Fighting bandits is one thing but they were our friends once upon a time. We have to face them tomorrow.”

Sylvain kept his fake smile up and replied with a sarcastic tone.

“I’m sure if you bring up your old memories with them, they’ll gladly throw their weapons aside and call it quits. We’ll have a nice big banquet and let bygones be bygones!”

“Sylvain. Stop it.”

Sylvain turned to face Ashe, his fake smile disappearing.

“I get how you feel, I really do, but that isn’t the world we live in. Right now, it’s kill or be killed and until one of our great leaders is in the ground, this fighting won’t stop. Maybe then we can repair old friendships, but we need to make it to the other side of the war.”

Ashe exhaled a deep breath.

“Can you do it?”

“Hm?”

“Can you really kill our old friends with no hesitation?”

Sylvain nodded his head, causing Ashe to tilt his.

“I have to, otherwise, I’ll be killed,” Sylvain began, but soon his fake smile returned and he glanced back at the classes going on below. “But if it’s a pretty girl like Dorothea or Petra then I might have some trouble.”

Ashe quirked an eyebrow at that. He knew Sylvain long enough to know when skirt chasing habits made it into conversation that the serious talk was finished. Instead, Ashe’s eyes fell back to the classes below.

The pair watched in a comfortable silence until two sets of footsteps drew their attention back to the door. A monk appeared guiding a purple haired man.

“And here is where we hold seminars for the youth. Today, as you can see, we have some training with your son,” the monk gestured to the class. “Some days, it’s less violent. Ashe sometimes reads them tales of the legendary deeds of Fodlan’s great knights. Other times they learn more pertinent life skills like gardening or cooking. We really value these youth as the future.”

“I see. Thank you for the tour, Father Maxwell. I believe I’ve seen enough,” Rodrigue replied with a gentle smile. The monk took a bow.

“Of course, milord! It was no trouble at all,” Father Maxwell spoke, bowing his head. “It’s always an honor when the lords take an interest in our endeavors.”

“Take care and be safe, I’ve heard rumors of brigands within the monastery town and it’d be a real loss if something happened to one such as yourself,” Rodrigue informed him, causing the man to sigh.

“Indeed, I’ve heard the rumors myself, but thankfully they seem to leave us holy folk alone. We don’t make for easy targets unlike the women and children,” Father Maxwell sighed and rubbed his chin, glancing back at the kids. “Truthfully I hope these classes help the kids when they go down to town. They love to play in the streets with the others.”

“If my son is teaching them, then they will be fine. They couldn’t have a better instructor.”

Ashe stared at the two adults near them, but noticed how Sylvain pointedly kept his attention on Felix and the kids below. To his surprise, he saw Sylvain clenching his fist until his knuckles were white.

Sylvain released his grip when the pair drew closer.

“I’ll leave you to it then, farewell,” Father Maxwell replied as he took his leave, his long graying hair whipping in the wind.

Ashe, Rodrigue, and Sylvain watched the class in an awkward silence. No one dared say anything until Felix’s father cleared his throat.

“Sylvain, may I speak with you?”

Ashe almost missed Sylvain’s eyes widening for a moment.

“O-of course, sir. How can I be of service, Duke Fraldarius?” Sylvain replied an unusual air of formality.

Rodrigue rolled his eyes with a tiny smirk.

“No need to be so formal, Sylvain. I’ve known you since you were in diapers,” Rodrigue spoke with a warmth and familiarity that he hadn’t seen in their war council meetings. His surprise must’ve betrayed him as the duke’s eyes fell on him. “I wish to speak to him in private.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Ashe acknowledged, bowing slightly before slinking off to the shadows.

With little else to do on the eve of battle, Ashe found himself heading to the training grounds to prepare himself for the fight to come. As he left he passed Professor Hanneman.

Professor Hanneman made his way to courtyard where he saw the orphans training under Felix.

“Felix, mind if I interrupt? I need to speak with my friend over here,” Hanneman spoke up, causing the kids to stop. Hanneman pointed to the white haired kid.

Felix shrugged, “Go ahead. We were due for a break anyways.”

“Thank you!” Hanneman approached the kid and produced a vulnerary. “Here you go.”

The white haired kid eagerly grabbed the glass, quickly chugging it down.

Felix paused his instructions long enough to catch his father speaking with Sylvain near the overhang. While he couldn’t make out what they were discussing he did find his curiosity piqued when Sylvain’s face turned almost as red as his hair.

That was a rare sight.

\---

“And then I was like ‘Bam!’ and he went ‘gaaaah’ and he died,” Marcus recounted the story of his glorious victory over the other kids to his dad. Marcus ran in circles around his dad, gesturing dramatically with each sound.

“Really? Then what?” Caspar wondered, his ears focused on his son while his eyes observed the forest around them.

“Then I punched him!”

Marcus stopped in front of Caspar and placed his hands on his hips, facing his dad. He beamed with pride.

“I hope you didn’t hit him too hard,” Caspar smirked, suppressing the laughter that threatened to escape him when the color drained from Marcus’ face. The look of utter shame would’ve had Caspar in stitches if not for his vague attempt at parenting.

“He was okay,” Marcus eventually replied with a sheepish smile on his face.

The brief moment Marcus actually quieted down and abruptly dodged the question brought a warmth to Caspar’s chest.

“As long as he was okay.”

When Marcus went to continue, the unmistakable clanging of weapons caused him to freeze and glance down the forest path.

Caspar’s friendly demeanor immediately fell.

“Marcus, trees, now!”

Marcus frowned for a moment, but nodded. He bolted for the nearest tree while Caspar also dashed after.

Caspar squinted down the road and saw a break in the tree line. The sounds weren’t growing any louder so he quietly stepped through the brush. As he drew closer to the edge of the forest, he fell to his chest and crawled the rest of the way. He came to rest under a bush, surveying the clearing ahead of him.

A few soldiers stood, clashing amidst a field of bodies. Arrows, axes, and swords laid strewn across the blood-soaked grass. Some weapons were stuck in bodies while others were left abandoned. Warriors wearing the familiar colors of blue and white fought against a lance wielder of black and red.

Caspar’s eyes widened when he recognized the red mane of the Adrestian soldier.

“Ferdinand…”

Ferdinand impaled one of the last four warriors attacking him, but that was met with a war cry from the fallen soldier’s unit. They charged forward and forced Ferdinand to drop his weapon in order to not be cut down immediately.

Caspar grit his teeth as he watched his one-time friend trip over a corpse, landing in a mixture of mud and blood. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his axe, but he forced himself to stay. Maybe his friend had a plan.

When the first sword stabbed Ferdinand’s side and his pained shout rung across the battlefield, Caspar was already charging out of the brush.

“Leave him alone!” Caspar growled, catching the attention of the Faerghus soldiers.

“It’s another scout, get him!” One of the warriors declared as his friends ran towards Caspar.

Two of the men struck for Caspar, who side stepped one slash and ducked underneath the other.

Caspar swept his foot to knock down one of the men. Turning his attention to the other, Caspar brandished his axe.

“I’ll give you one chance. Flee with your life,” Caspar offered, only succeeding in drawing a glare from the standing soldier.

“And forsake my honor? Never!” The soldier spat back, charging at Caspar again. He brought his blade down, but found his strike deflected by the axe. His momentum carried him forward into straight into Caspar’s fist. “Ahrg!”

Caspar followed through with a swing of his axe, cutting the man’s neck open. He watched the man fall to his knees gasping for air as he drowned in his own blood. When the other soldier stood back up, Caspar pointed his weapon at him.

“Last chance.”

“You monster!” The solider insulted him. He glanced back to his last remaining partner.

They nodded at each other, both starting to circle Caspar. One stood in front of Caspar and the other behind him. After they lapped him once they decided to strike together.

With a smirk Caspar charged ahead to meet the one in front of him.

That soldier went wide-eyed as Caspar closed the distance between them with impressive speed. He swung in front of himself to stop Caspar from attacking, but missed.

Caspar side-stepped the blow, circling behind the man. Catching him off guard, Caspar drove his axe into his back.

“Gah!” The man’s body seized up from shock, stumbling forward.

Caspar pressed his boot on the man’s ass and pushed it, sending the man tumbling into his partner and pulling his axe out at the same time.

The gravely injured guard collapsed onto his friend. A garbled croak escaped him as his dying breath.

Caspar walked over, watching the last man struggle under the dead weight of his friend. Taking a deep breath, Caspar raised his axe over his head.

“Wait!” The guard shouted before Caspar brought the weapon down on the man’s head, putting him out of his misery.

“Rest in peace, wherever you are,” Caspar mumbled, averting his gaze.

The sound of a cough drew Caspar’s attention back to his old teammate.

Caspar ran back over to Ferdinand, dropping his axe next to him.

“Hey, are you okay?” Caspar asked. His eyes glanced at the wound in Ferdinand’s side, blood still gushing out. “Hold on, I got you.”

Ferdinand didn’t respond initially. After a few moments he coughed up blood, sending some spatters onto Caspar’s face.

“Ew…” A small voice cringed.

Caspar’s eyes looked up to see Marcus’ freckled face grimacing at him.

“Marcus! What are you doing here?” Caspar almost shouted, panic starting to course through his veins. He took a quick survey of the field, very thankful that no one else seemed alive.

Marcus dug his toes into the mud, spinning his foot around.

“I thought you needed help…”

Caspar softened his expression.

“I can take care of myself, Marcus. If something happened to you I…” Caspar admitted before stopping himself. Seeing how his son now seemed downtrodden he glanced down at Ferdinand. “Thanks buddy. There’s something you could do though.”

Upon hearing those words a gleam returned to Marcus’ eye and he took an excited breath.

“What? What can I do?”

“You know that thing you do for me after a hard fight? Can you do it for our friend here?”

Caspar gestured to Ferdinand, blood still leaking from his wound.

Marcus nodded his head furiously. He ran forward and reached the fallen warrior’s side.

“Yeah!”

Marcus placed his hands on Ferdinand and closed his eyes. A low groan escaped him while he tried to focus his attention. His tongue peaked out between his lips as the air crackled around them.

Caspar watched with a gentle smile on his face, his hand reaching into his pouch.

Magic sparked around Marcus. His hands glowed a light blue, then a jade green, before going back to blue as the energies channeled into Ferdinand.

Slowly but surely, the wound closed itself, healing as the magical energies expedited its recovery. Some of the bruises and damage on the noble’s face also faded under the concentration of the young kid.

After a bit the magic dissipated and Marcus fell forward, woozy.

“Great job, Marcus!” Caspar complimented his son, pulling out a vulnerary.

“I did goo-!” Marcus began to say before he started coughing up a storm. He pulled his sleeve to his mouth. A few pats on the back from his father got him to regain control of his body. When he pulled his sleeve back blood was dripping from it.

“Here you go,” Caspar gave his son the vulnerary, still smiling. Though his son couldn’t see the worry in his father’s face.

Marcus only saw pride and that made him swell up with joy. He opened the bottle and started to down it. His face twisted from the bitter taste but he powered through it.

“Blech,” Marcus shuddered as he dropped the empty glass.

“Feeling better?” Caspar wondered, his concern starting to show. It faded when Marcus nodded.

“Yeah. But papa, who iss she?” Marcus pointed at the fallen noble.

“She? Caspar repeated, trying not to laugh again.

At that, Ferdinand’s dry laugh startled the kid. He slowly pushed himself up, soon finding support from the warrior who saved him. Caspar propped him against his knees.

“I am… Ferdinand von Aegir,” Ferdinand began, turning to face the silver-haired kid. “And I owe you my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who wondered what a baby would look like between Caspar and Ashe here is an answer. Writing Marcus is going to be very fun especially as things progress! Also Ferdinand to say his name was always gonna happen at some point.
> 
> As usual all feedback is appreciated and I'm always curious to hear people's head canons and what they think of where things are going! Until next time!


	3. The Blood of the Eagle and Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Caspar learns, no good deed goes unpunished.

“Straight ahead, we’re almost there,” Ferdinand’s voice whispered into Caspar’s ear.

Caspar grunted back in acknowledgement, pausing to readjust the body he carried on his back. Ferdinand’s chin rested on his shoulders while he piggy-back carried the proud noble to camp.

Marcus walked beside Caspar, his eyes focused on Ferdinand. When the noble glanced his way Marcus fell back a few steps.

Caspar laughed at his son’s reaction.

“It’s okay, Marcus. Ferdinand is an old friend,” Caspar tried to assuage his son’s shyness.

Marcus remained behind them while Ferdinand chuckled.

“Such a brave, young squire. It was truly fortuitous that you both showed up when you did,” Ferdinand spoke up so the little boy heard him. “You’ve got a talent for healing, a skill I’m indebted to you for.”

Tilting his head, Marcus ran back up.

“Papa, what’s in bed ed mean?” Marcus repeated, not quite grasping the word.

Snorting at his son, Caspar answered, “It means he owes you one.”

Ferdinand smiled, but glanced at the kid.

“Papa? Have you adopted an orphan? How noble of you!” Ferdinand complimented. He looked down at Marcus who was now grinning a toothy smile at him.

Caspar shook his head, frowning. However, he was facing away from the other two, so neither saw.

“No, he’s mine.”

Caspar felt his friend suddenly stiffen in his grasp.

“Wait, you’re a father?!” Ferdinand replied, his eyes wide. When Caspar nodded back Ferdinand glanced down at the freckled kid. “I see. Well, I must say that’s most certainly unexpected.”

Rolling his eyes, Caspar readjusted his stance as a military encampment came into view. “I’m gonna guess my dad didn’t tell anyone then.”

Ferdinand shook his head.

“He most certainly did not,” Ferdinand confirmed. “To think you were the first of our class to sire a child. I would’ve expected that honor to perhaps fall to Dorothea, but most certainly not you. No offense, Caspar!”

“None taken.”

Ferdinand furrowed his brows as he collected his thoughts. “If I may inquire, who is the boy’s mother?”

Drawing closer to the camp, Caspar sighed.

Marcus beat him to the question, though.

“I don’t have a mommy!” He proudly declared, not really understanding the implications of his words.

“Oh. Oh! I’m so sorry for your loss!”

Ferdinand’s panic brought a smile to Caspar’s face but he suppressed his chuckles.

“It’s okay,” Caspar reassured him. “I get that quite a lot.”

“Knowing that, I presume this is the reason you’ve been missing all these years. Raising your son?”

“Yup. Just doing odd jobs here and there.”

“I see, quite honorable of you! Though I must chide you for shirking your noble duties,” Ferdinand chuckled.

Caspar laughed at that.

“I’m not a noble anymore.”

Ferdinand straightened up and raised a hand in the air, almost jostling himself free. He nearly knocked Caspar over by the change in posture.

“Preposterous! Once a noble, always a noble! Does your son even know about his proud heritage?”

At that Marcus stopped, scratching the back of his head.

“Huh?” Marcus wondered.

“Nope,” Caspar replied, his blood running cold. “Can we change topics? What do you want me to do when we arrive?”

“Simply take me to the infirmary, I’m sure someone will be by to take my report,” Ferdinand spoke quickly and almost absent-mindedly. His focus remained on a more important topic. “And I cannot let the conversation drop there. Your son is the next generation of the von Bergliez name!”

A bitter taste filled Caspar mouth as Ferdinand carried on with the conversation.

“Von what?” Marcus said, his voice full of uncertainty.

“By the goddess, Caspar. How have you not told your son about his family? Marcus, my boy, your full name is Marcus von Bergliez. Your family is quite famous and some of the strongest in Adrestia!”

“I am?!” Upon hearing those words Marcus’ eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Papa is the strongest!”

Ferdinand laughed heartily at that, missing the exasperated groan from Caspar.

“Indeed, he’s one of the best fighters I know. Second to only myself and the Emperor!” 

As they arrived at the gates, a pair of guards pointed lances at them. It only took the men a few moments to recognize Ferdinand’s mane of orange hair.

“Lord Von Aegir!” One of them addressed him. “Are you hurt?”

Raising a hand, Ferdinand shot them a confident grin.

“Tis but a scratch. Please inform her majesty that I’ll be in the infirmary but I have some valuable information,” Ferdinand responded from Caspar’s back.

The soldier saluted before running off into the camp.

Ferdinand whispered more directions to Caspar and guided him to the healing tent. As they navigated, nostalgia hit Caspar like a ton of bricks.

Familiar smells of Adrestian food, the banter of soldiers before a battle, and the echoes of sparring weapons brought a smile to Caspar’s face. Memories of his academy days flooded his mind and preoccupied his thoughts. He didn’t notice Marcus going wide-eyed from all the soldiers and running off in a direction away from his father.

Caspar easily slipped through a tent flap and walked over to an empty cot. Carefully, he knelt down and Ferdinand slid off. The cot creaked under the new weight.

“There you go,” Caspar grunted. He stood back up and offered Ferdinand a thumbs up. “Good luck with the battle tomorrow.”

As Caspar turned to leave he felt a hand grab his wrist.

“Are you leaving? Surely this is chance meeting is a sign for your return! Why not join us in uniting the land and bringing her majesty’s vision to reality? In fact, Bernie, Petra, Hubert, and her Majesty will partake in the battle tomorrow.”

Caspar tugged his wrist back, causing Ferdinand to let go.

“I know Linhardt or Dorothea aren’t here but you’ll see them back at Fort Merceus after we win! Sadly Professor Manuela chose the losing side…”

“I already told you, I have someone to look after. If something were to happen to me… I can’t risk that.”

Ferdinand narrowed his eyebrows, studying Caspar. He pressed his lips together as he considered his next words.

“With all due respect, even if the worst should come to pass, you have a family that can take care of him,” Ferdinand began to explain but stopped once he saw Caspar glare at him. “But you are Caspar von Bergliez, you won’t fall. I’ll make sure of it! I already owe you my life twice over for today!”

Caspar took a deep breath and unclenched his fist, not even knowing that he was doing that.

“My family- I already visited them. They-”

“Ferdinand, you live,” a cool voice interrupted, drawing the attention of the two warriors. At the tent entrance loomed a dark figure. Stepping into the candlelight, Hubert approached the pair. “And I see you found our last classmate. This should be a good story.”

“Ah, Hubert! Indeed, the scouting mission was a success. The others gave their lives to ensure my escape to deliver this information. The Leicester Alliance is moving in further from the east. They aren’t crossing the Great Bridge of Myrrdin with the Kingdom’s armies.”

Caspar’s heart fell when he heard that information.

“I see, perfect. This almost makes up for your failure to hold the bridge. Good work.”

Ferdinand’s shoulders fell.

“Y-yes.”

A chill went down Caspar’s spine when Hubert turned his attention to him.

“And how did you play into this? You’ve been missing for almost five years.”

Ferdinand moved to speak but Caspar quickly cut him off.

“I found him at the end of the battle. Just made sure he got back to here in one piece.”

Caspar plastered a fake smile on his face, ignoring the look of surprise from his friend’s face.

“What good luck. Does this mean you intend to return to the fold? We’d welcome your skills.”

Hubert’s question felt laced with an air of unease.

“Nope, just passing through,” Caspar replied, swallowing a lump forming in his throat.

“Ah, what a shame.”

Hubert’s smile didn’t falter nor did his tone, which only caused Caspar’s nerves to prickle.

“Yeah…”

Ferdinand glanced between the two.

“It’s already late so why not spend it with your old friends? Have some food and reconnect before leaving tomorrow,” Ferdinand offered, causing the others to look at him. “It’s the least we can do for ensuring my safe return. Even if you do eat for three soldiers.”

Caspar feigned offense.

“Three?! I can eat for four if I try hard enough!”

Seeing the fire in his eyes brought a smile back to Ferdinand’s face.

“Then allow me to escort you to the dining hall. Perhaps we’ll run into a few familiar faces.”

“It’s ok I-” Caspar began before getting cut off by a loud growl. He glanced at his stomach and dropped the façade. “Fine, food sounds good, right Mar-?”

Caspar caught himself and quickly looked around.

“Where’s Marcus, Caspar?” Ferdinand wondered.

“Marcus?!”

Quirking an eyebrow, Hubert crossed his arms.

“Who is this ‘Marcus’?” Hubert inquired.

Caspar cursed himself and replied, “He’s a kid-”

“He’s Caspar’s son,” Ferdinand supplied an answer.

Caspar bolted his mouth shut, almost grinding his teeth. He wanted to reach over and punch Ferdinand on the head but he kept still. He remained focused on Hubert.

Edelgard’s right hand man rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes. Hubert’s devilish smile returned.

“I see. So the rumors were true,” Hubert stated, causing goosebumps to go down Caspar’s arms. “Well, I heard some ruckus about a small child running around the camp so I’m sure we’ll find him on our way. Come, Caspar.”

After Hubert turned to leave, Caspar gave Ferdinand an annoyed frown before running to catch up to Hubert. As soon as they were clear of the tent, Caspar dropped the politeness.

“So you knew,” Caspar spoke. He folded his arms behind his head as he stared ahead.

“Indeed, your father was quite upset you rejected his proposals,” Hubert informed him, chuckling at the thought. “Even I must admit I was surprised to hear how fast you adjusted to your newfound… responsibilities.”

Caspar glanced up at the moon and frowned.

“That still hasn’t changed. I’m not fighting.”

Hubert stopped upon hearing those words, turning to give Caspar a wicked smile.

“Really, ‘Randolph’?”

Almost bumping into Hubert, Caspar took a step back. He went wide-eyed as his stomach sunk.

“Wh-”

“I’m not an idiot, Caspar. I’m well aware of what’s going on in our territory at all times so of course news of a blue-haired mercenary accompanied by a small child would reach my ears. Using your uncle’s name was just another nail in the coffin.”

Pausing for a moment, Caspar offered Hubert a deadpan stare.

“So what? It’s not a crime to be a mercenary.”

“If you don’t go against her Majesty’s law, true. But you’ve been very busy these last few years. Some of those you fought were Adrestian agents.”

Caspar scoffed at the notion.

“I only took jobs for to fight those taking advantage of others.”

Hubert rolled his eyes at that.

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware of your sense of justice. That doesn’t change the fact you impeded her Majesty’s goals. You know the punishment for those who commit such crimes.”

Narrowing his eyes, Caspar pushed through.

“I haven’t fought against Edelgard. I haven’t fought for Edelgard. I don’t want to fight for anyone besides myself.”

“And that’s the problem. You have a duty to your country that you’ve neglected. Do you think that’s something that’s easily forgiven or forgotten? You abandoned that duty. You abandoned your emperor.”

“And leave Marcus alone? Never! If you know about my dad’s proposals you know why I did what I did.”

Uncrossing his arms, Hubert nodded.

“Yes but your dad still awaits your return. I’m not sure you’ve heard but he’s put quite the bounty on your return.”

At that Caspar tilted his head.

“But you know where I am. You always knew.”

“Correct.”

“Then why didn’t he get me already?”

“Because I didn’t tell him. Her Majesty and I firmly believe that we carve our own destinies. And now here you are.”

Hubert turned to continue walking.

“And tomorrow there I’ll go.”

“Perhaps, or you could weigh your choices and making a smart one for once in your life.”

“Hey! What does that mean?”

Caspar caught up to Hubert and walked alongside him, focusing on the dark-haired man.

“Pay attention because I’ll only say this once,” Hubert began, pausing to face to Caspar. “Let me paint you a picture of the future. Tomorrow when we overcome our enemy’s forces we will march to crush them one by one. As we do that, the land will be united under her Majesty’s rule. When this future comes to pass where do you suppose your place will be? As I’ve mentioned you’re currently a mercenary who abandoned his friends, family, and country and actively impeded her Majesty’s plans, whether intentional or not. You know Edelgard. Do you think she’ll forgive such transgressions?”

Despite the length of Hubert’s monologue Caspar paid attention as best he could.

“I wasn’t going to stay here,” he eventually admitted.

“Oh really? Based on your reaction earlier to the eastern road being occupied by the Alliance I presume that’s the direction you were heading in,” Hubert guessed, smiling when he noticed Caspar’s grimace. “I see. So if you didn’t plan to stay nor do you plan to aid our enemies I assume you intend to leave Fodlan through the east… so Almyra?”

Caspar let out a loud sigh.

“Yes…”

Hubert laughed loudly at that, drawing the attention of some nearby soldiers.

“That’s a foolish choice, even for someone as rash as yourself.”

Squinting at him, Caspar replied, “Why’s that? They aren’t at war and they like fighting. Win-win for me.”

Shaking his head Hubert frowned once more.

“They will go to war eventually with the winner of this conflict. So then what, do you intend to flee once more?”

Caspar kicked his toe into the dirt.

“Yes? Maybe? I don’t know. I just want to keep Marcus safe. I can’t do that here.”

When Caspar felt a cold hand on his shoulder, he almost jumped out of his skin. Instead he looked up to see Hubert with a glint in his eye.

“Yes you can. If you fight for her Majesty and help us claim victory your future is yours to make. Not your father’s but your own. Her majesty values talent above name and you will carve out your own,” Hubert suggested. He noticed Caspar’s eyes fall back to his feet. He continued, his voice much cooler and pointed now. “Or her Majesty can know about your actions and your father learn of your whereabouts. The choice is yours to sleep upon. But I will hear your answer in the morning.”

With that Hubert continued forward towards a large tent in the center of camp.

Clenching a fist, Caspar tilted his head and took a long, drawn out breath. His chest felt heavy as he contemplated the choices thrust upon him by Hubert, a familiar anger pulsing through his veins.

“Some choice,” he complained. “Like its ever my choice.”

Caspar didn’t have long until a loud crashing from the large tent drew his attention as well as those of the soldiers.

“Ah, let me go!” Marcus’ tiny voice echoed, causing Caspar to start marching towards the tent.

“Whose child is this belonging too?” Petra’s familiar cadence rang out, bringing a tiny smile to Caspar’s face.

“I’m Marcus Ver Berger!”

“Who?”

At that Caspar was snorting as he entered the tent, ready to eat with some old friends.

\---

A pair of tiny arms wrapped around Caspar’s neck, groaning at the movement.

“Papa, I’m tired,” Marcus complained, pressing his face into Caspar’s shoulder.

Caspar rolled his eyes. He paused to shift the small load in his arms closer to his chest.

“Hey, just a little longer,” Caspar replied, his voice gentle and quiet.

“Everything okay, Caspar?” Ferdinand’s voice called back. The orange-haired noble glanced over his shoulder to see his friend comforting his kid. “We’re almost there.”

“Yeah, yeah. Lead the way.”

Marcus let out a loud yawn.

Caspar followed his friend to a tent on the edge of camp. Ferdinand stopped to open the flap for him, allowing Caspar to duck in. On one edge of the tent a cot already stood with a bedroll spread out. At the foot of the cot leaned Caspar’s backpack.

“I had one of my men set this up while you ate. It’s the least I could do for my savior,” Ferdinand teased, playfully elbowing Caspar’s side as he stepped in to join him. His hearty laugh roused Marcus once more.

Marcus grumbled as Caspar set him down.

“Thanks, it’s more than enough,” Caspar replied with an elbow back. The force of the blow staggered Ferdinand.

“If you’d like I could fetch another cot or something for your son.”

Shaking his head, Caspar let out his own yawn.

“Nah, it’s okay. Someone else probably needs it.”

Ferdinand frowned but nodded.

“If you say so. Well, I wish you pleasant dreams,” Ferdinand spoke, turning to leave. Before ducking out he turned to face Caspar one more time. “Hubert mentioned something of an offer to rejoin her Majesty. I pray you make the right choice and join us in battle tomorrow. Rest well, Caspar.”

Ferdinand’s remark soured Caspar’s mood but he didn’t notice wrinkle his nose. He took his leave, the tent closing behind him.

Caspar strolled over to his backpack and rifled through it.

“Papa?” Marcus’ tired voice called out.

“Hm?”

Caspar pulled out a small set of clothes and set them aside.

“Why do they keep calling you that? Casser?” Marcus wondered. He stepped closer to his dad, grabbing the clothes Caspar pulled out.

“Oh that’s a nickname. You know my real name,” Caspar replied with a wink. Marcus’ face lit up, proud to know the truth. “If anyone asks you know what to say.”

“Randolph!”

Caspar retrieved his pajamas but continued to dig through their shared belonging.

“Yup, you’re very smart!”

Marcus grinned at the compliment as he crawled onto the cot.

“You know so many cool people, papa! I like the one that talked funny.”

Pausing his search for a moment, Caspar straightened up to offer his son a quizzical expression.

“Who?”

Sitting on the edge of the cot, Marcus kicked his feet back and forth.

“The nice lady who caught me.”

“Oh Petra, yeah she’s great. She’s a princess,” Caspar informed his son.

That news dropped Marcus’s jaw.

“Whoa, really?! What’s a princess?”

“Yup, and she’s a great fighter.” 

Caspar ignored the second question as he continued his search.

Marcus sprung down and ran over to his dad, his energy now returned.

“Did she beat you? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Suppressing a chuckle, Caspar knelt down by Marcus. He waved a finger in front of his face.

“I won’t say more until you’re ready for bed. We got an early day tomorrow.”

Marcus’ beaming smile faded immediately. He puffed his cheeks and crossed his arms.

“We always leave early…”

His son’s reaction felt like a dagger to the chest, but Caspar shook off the blow.

“I know it’s not fun… but just a little longer. We’re gonna go somewhere we can sleep in. And you can make friends.”

Marcus’ frowned softened and he look a loud sniff.

“R-really?” His hopeful tone could almost shatter Caspar’s heart.

“Y-yeah. Just a bit more,” Caspar replied, wearing a bitter smile. “Now get ready.”

“Okay!”

Caspar faced away from his son while he quickly changed into less dirty clothes to rest in. His thoughts returned to his earlier conversation with Hubert in addition to his own plans. Staking a claim in the new Adrestian Empire sounded almost as enticing as starting anew in Almyra. He could fight with his friends and reclaim some semblance of his old life or continue to run towards the unknown like he’d been doing for almost five years.

“Papa? I’m ready. Now tell me!”

Marcus’ voice snapped Caspar back to reality. Caspar glanced down to see his son by his feet in his pajamas, eager once more.

“Oh right, Petra. I can beat her in a fist fight but with weapons? I don’t know,” Caspar admitted, earning a gasp from his son.

“Wow! She must be strong.”

Caspar nodded at that.

“Oh yeah, she’s a warrior princess.”

Digging into their bag for one last item, Caspar pulled out a long cloth.

“My blankie!” Marcus all but shouted, jumping for the fabric in Caspar’s hand. He easily retrieved it and jumped back onto the cot.

Caspar watched with an amused smile as Marcus wrapped himself up in Professor Hanneman’s scarf.

“Even after all these years you still fit in that,” Caspar chuckled, finally closing the backpack.

He waked over to the cot and slipped inside the bedroll. Scooting to the side, he opened a spot for Marcus to lay next to him.

“Papa, can I be a warrior princess?”

Marcus cocooned himself in in the scarf before laying down next to Caspar.

“You can be whatever you want, buddy,” Caspar laughed. As sleep started to overtake him he relaxed when he felt a warmth from his side. “Just remember that I love you no matter what.”

“I’ll be the best…” Marcus mumbled to himself before drifting off.

\---

The rhythmic sounds of the whetstone sharpening the edge of the blade steadied Felix’s thoughts, centering him prior to the battle. It drowned out the bustle of soldiers equipping their gear and the faint echoes of the opposing forces assembling across Gronder Field. Precious memories of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion five years prior rattled through Felix’s mind but the repetitive motions of his task pushed them back one stroke at a time. At least until a familiar mess of red hair reflected on his blade, casually observing Felix.

“What is it?” Felix asked, catching the momentarily flash of shock on Sylvain’s face on the blade. By the time his friend stepped around to meet him, the expression was replaced with a smile as forced as the Boar Prince’s humanity.

“Oh nothing, just stopping by before the battle,” Sylvain replied.

Felix’s eyes glanced up to see his friend already in full armor, dark metal plate that hid most of his features. All except his wild hair and annoyingly chatty mouth.

Letting the conversation die there, Felix returned to sharpening his blade. He lasted all of five seconds before irritation pricked at his nerves. The additional set of eyes dug into him and ruined any chances of calming himself.

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

Sylvain shook his head, chuckling at Felix’s reply.

“Clearly. I’m pretty sure you could bisect a demonic beast with how often you sharpen your sword.”

Sylvain’s teasing only earned another indignant huff from his childhood friend. Felix peered over at the Lance of Ruin on Sylvain’s back and narrowed his eyes.

“And I doubt you could pierce a piece of paper, let alone armor, with that.”

Sylvain knitted his brows momentarily but shrugged his shoulders. He slipped his lance off his back and inspected it himself.

“Sure it’s got some cracks but it’ll get me through the battle,” He kept the same smile, unconcerned by the condition of weapon.

Despite Sylvain’s appraisal, the weapon most certainly had seen better days. Cracks lined its boney blades, the shaft more than discolored from the various blood and other various fluids it acquired from its numerous uses over the years, and even the hilt appeared partially rusted.

“It’ll fail you in battle if you don’t maintain it,” Felix scolded him, setting the stone down. He lifted his own sword and checked the edges. As he did so, he saw his father emerge from a tent across the way with Dimitri and the Professor in tow. They appeared deep in discussion as they marched through the camp.

“If it breaks, it breaks,” Sylvain shrugged, drawing Felix’s stone cold stare. “What? I got others and my magic to get me through the fight.”

Felix sheathed his blade in its scabbard and stood to face his childhood friend. “A broken weapon in battle is a death wish. If you value your existence so lightly then quit taking the long way around. I won’t weep for a fool who engages in idiotic behavior.”

Although the words left Felix’s mouth, his heart squeezed with each syllable he spat through grit teeth. His knuckles turned white from clenching around the hilt of his weapon. He turned to leave but a hand on his shoulder planted him in place.

“Wait, Felix! I get it, sheesh. I’ll request for the proper materials to fix it after the fight, I promise,” Sylvain stated, worry lining his voice.

Felix took a deep breath and let go of his anger momentarily.

“I understand what the Lance of Ruin symbolizes to you but remember that it’s only a weapon, a tool to guide you through conflict. And a tool is only as useful as it wielder,” Felix softened his stare momentarily. “And I’d dislike it if its current wielder perished due to his own misplaced guilt and idiocy.”

Sylvain paused, blinking twice as Felix continued his journey back towards the others. Sylvain’s mouth dropped slightly though he was thankful no one was around. He quickly straightened his expression into its usual cheery poker face but he pressed a hand to his chest.

“Aw, you do care.”

\---

Thrusting his blade forward, Felix felt little resistance as it pierced the armor of a soldier. The sudden dead weight almost dropped the weapon from his grasp. Felix dared not look as he withdrew his sword from the corpse, one less expression to haunt his nightmares after the battle. He swiped the blade across the air and sent more blood into the blood-soaked field below. His eyes glanced around for the next opponent as he pushed deeper into Adrestian camp.

The battle began early enough, with fireballs and other spells being lobbed from all sides followed by a volley of arrows. When the initial wave of attacks fell, the cavalry charged forward to take the fort in the center of the field and secure a strategic advantage from the Adrestian Army.

Felix sat back from the assault, instead watching his friends lead by the Professor go fight. His task was considered much more important. An elite squad led by the Boar Prince, his father, and himself instead launched a pincer attack from the north of the Adrestian army in hopes of ending the fight and the war in one fell swoop.

Get Dimitri to Edelgard so he could satiate his bloodlust and put his inhuman strength to use.

On the march to Edelgard’s camp they encountered some resistance.

“You’re interfering with the plan. Looks like I’ll just have to get rid of you,” Hubert’s icy voice called out.

Felix, alongside Dimitri and Rodrigue, looked up to see Edelgard’s second-in-command perched atop a rock. An eerie black mist glowed around him, focusing into a smoky orb in front of his hands. The sphere launched downwards at their group and crashed into a slower soldier.

“Gah!” The man screamed momentarily as the colored from his skin darkened and shriveled. He reached a bony hand out, skin pulled taut against his skeleton before crumpling down.

“So the lapdog presents itself for the slaughter? We must be close,” Dimitri wickedly grinned, aiming his lance at the dark mage. His voice bubbled with an excitement that would’ve unsettled any normal solider, but not Felix.

“I assure you this dog will bite your throat out and end your miserable existence,” Hubert boasted, moving his hands in preparation for another spell.

“Really? Let’s test that theory, shall we?” Dimitri smirked.

“Felix!” Rodrigue called out, but his son was already charging ahead with a few other men.

Felix kept his attention on the lone dark mage, wary of any of his spells. As much as Felix knew his way around magic, Hubert was an expert on a whole other level, his talent exceeding even that of Annette or Mercedes. Felix and the remainder of his battalion made it halfway up the hill towards Hubert before the mage lobbed another devastating spell their way. Unfortunately, Felix didn’t expect a group of cavalry charging out of the nearby brush with lances at the ready.

“Get them!” A proud voice ordered, leading the assault on Felix’s men.

Magic and men crashed into Felix’s battalion, halting their strike. The goddess smiled on the purple-haired swordsman as the magic missed him while he deflected the strike of a lance.

“Slaughter them!” Hubert ordered, raising his hands for another spell.

The glint of an arrow briefly caught Felix’s attention as he prepared for another strike from Hubert. Much to his relief, the arrow buried itself into the dark mage’s clavicle. Felix owed Ashe a favor for that beautiful shot.

“Argh! No more I can do here. Troops, remember your orders! I must withdraw,” Hubert shouted to the soldiers, pulling back from his perch.

“Leaving so soon? But we have yet to rend the flesh from your bones!” Dimitri called after Hubert. His one eye widened from excitement. He charged up the other side of the hill with his battalion and Rodrigue in tow.

“Continue the fight and protect his Majesty!” Rodrigue shouted to Felix, earning a scoff in return.

Glaring at a nearby enemy, Felix raised his empty hand and electricity crackled around it. A ball of energy shot into the poor soul who could only cry in agony as he collapsed. Felix followed through with a stab at another while the battalion wrestled with their ambushers.

“Crush them, for her Majesty!” The same proud voice from before spoke again, trying to rally his troops.

Felix looked up to see Ferdinand von Aegir on horseback a small ways away with his lance in one of Felix’s men.

Gritting his teeth, Felix raised his hand again as a series of transmutation circles arose around him, focusing the electricity into his palm longer than before. The magical display drew the attention of Ferdinand who simply went wide-eyed when he saw what was coming next.

“I’ll cut you down!” Felix roared, his neutral façade fracturing for a moment.

A bolt of lightning shot forth and carved a path to Ferdinand.

“No!”

A shriek sent goosebumps down Felix’s arm but the adrenaline pumping through his veins quickly overcame it. Felix returned to fending off the soldiers but found most of his men already fallen due to the ambush. Glaring at the remaining, he got to work with his blade. From the corner of his eye he saw Ferdinand rise, trembling but alive. His horse was a different story.

When Felix caught Ferdinand hobbling off he shouted, “Get back here, you coward!”

Felix dispatched the remaining Adrestian soldiers as swiftly as he could manage but it still took time. Once he planted his sword in the last one’s chest, he cleaned his blade and began his pursuit of Ferdinand.

Felix followed the trail from his dead mount up the hill and around a barricade. He caught sight of the limping general and he charged in blindly. That mistake cost him a sucker punch to the face.

“Oh no you don’t,” A familiar voice called out as his surprise punch caused Felix to take a few steps back. “This is as far as you go.”

Rubbing his cheek, Felix regained his footing. He spotted his ambusher and couldn’t help the wry smile forming on his face. He reached for his blade, resting his hand on the hilt.

“Well, well, well. Five years late to our sparring session, Caspar,” Felix teased, drawing his sword.

The blue haired soldier frowned momentarily but pointed his axe at him.

“No time like the present,” Caspar countered, slowly circling Felix.

Felix observed him, noting how his stance had changed little since they last met for practice. Unlike the scrawny boy he brawled with back in their Academy days, Caspar now filled out his armor and wielded a rather shiny axe.

“Show me what you’ve got,” Felix declared, dashing forward with his sword.

“You first!” Caspar shouted back, axe at the ready.

Caspar made the first swing, one that was easily parried by Felix’s blade. When the swordsman went to counter he noticed Caspar was already out of his immediate striking range and preparing another attack. So he had learned some new tricks since their last encounter.

Their engagement felt like a long forgotten routine, though this time it involved a lot more focus. Maneuvers and strikes the two took felt like old muscles being flexed for the first time in years but soon felt natural once more.

While Caspar focused on powerful hits, hoping to end everything with one well-placed strike, Felix remained attentive to his moves and took more frequent strikes. Felix hoped to pierce Caspar’s armor and take advantage of a mistake but he found few to exploit on the surprisingly cautious warrior. Yes he cut Caspar on his arms and even legs but they were shallow at best.

As soon as Felix went to lunge for Caspar, he saw the other warrior’s eyes widen.

“What are you still doing here?!” Caspar shouted. His shock wasn’t enough to prevent him from dodging the blow, stumbling back.

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir and I don’t leave my friends behind!” The proud noble’s voice echoed from behind Felix.

Felix turned to see Ferdinand with a javelin in hand, already in the middle of chucking it at him.

Felix went wide-eyed, certainly not expecting to have his fight interrupted by a noble he thought he fried. His face paled as he watched the weapon fly through the air. He didn’t register the galloping of hooves as the javelin drew closer. He closed his eyes on instinct but felt the sun fade from his skin for an instant as the sound of metal piercing armor reached his ears.

Where Felix expected pain to be throbbing through his body, he felt none. He opened his eyes to see a body falling from a horse directly in front of him, familiar black plated armor crashing to the dirt.

“Sylvain!” Felix called out, ice running through his veins.

The mop of red hair remained unmoving on the battlefield, silent. A javelin protruded from the body though Felix didn’t see where it hit.

Felix stood still for a moment, processing what just occurred. His chest and heart tightened as he struggled to breathe or form any more coherent words. His stomach sunk while he stared at his childhood friend. A bevy of emotions threatened to overwhelm the swordsman but he latched onto the one he felt the strongest connection to and focused on that. Anger pulsed through his body and moved it from inaction.

“I’ll end you!” Felix yelled, his free hand already making the motions to focus his magic. The sigils for Thoron glowed around him once more as he took aim at Ferdinand.

Sensing the danger of his actions, Ferdinand turned to run.

Just before the bolt fired, a sudden force crashed into Felix and the beam arced into the sky.

“Oh no you don’t. Ferdinand, get out of here!” Caspar shouted, trying to pin Felix to the ground.

“Get off of me!” Felix seethed.

“But Cas-” Ferdinand called back.

“Leave! I’ll be right behind you!” Caspar interrupted, before being pushed off by Felix’s feet.

Caspar stood back up, placing himself between the fleeing general and Felix. Upon seeing the storm in Felix’s eyes, Caspar tightened his grip on his axe.

Felix pushed himself back to his feet. If looks could set things on fire then Caspar would be a smoldering pile of ash under Felix’s gaze. And Felix had just enough magical prowess to make that a reality.

Pointing his blade at Caspar, Felix spoke with a harsh warning, “Step aside or no medic alive will fix what I do to you.”

Felix’s words caused Caspar to shudder but the warrior stood his ground.

“If you can hit me,” Caspar replied, earning a growl from the normally calm swordsman.

Narrowing his eyes, Felix brought both hands to the hilt of the blade and dashed forward. Rather than commit to a solid strike, Felix unleashed a flurry of stabs. To his utter frustration, none of the blows landed as Caspar nimbly dodged around him. Several slices cut Caspar but nothing deep like before.

Whether out of caution or due to the pace of Felix’s assault, Caspar never attacked back. Whenever he tried to get in a swing, a pointy sword found its way into his personal space. Caspar slowly stepped back to alleviate the pressure of Felix’s ferocious barrage.

Felix’s eyes drifted from Caspar to the fading shadow of Ferdinand on the horizon. He grit his teeth and spoke. “Will. You. Stand. Still. And. Drop. Dead!”

Each word was punctuated with a stab.

Caspar’s eyes widened before a smirk found its way onto his face.

“Okay!”

To Felix’s surprise, Caspar dashed at him as he was thrusting his sword forward.

“What?!”

Caspar caught the blade with his left hand, letting the sword pierce through his palm. Rather than slice through it, the sword stabbed through the back of his hand and the entire blade sunk through the small amount of flesh until the cross guard reached Caspar’s palm.

“Gotcha!” Caspar shouted, wrapping his fingers around the cross guard and partially grasping Felix’s hand.

“Huh? Felix reacted. His face fell when he saw Caspar rear his head back for a moment.

Caspar threw himself forward into a mighty head-butt, scoring a direct hit on Felix’s forehead. Pain coursed through both their heads but it jolted Felix enough to let go of his weapon.

Felix grasped at his head, recoiling from the pain. “Ow! You son of a-” 

Felix glared at Caspar, prepared with a whole litany of insults but they died in his throat when he saw Caspar swinging his axe. His feet froze in place as his body chilled from the thought of his imminent death. The last emotion he registered was confusion when he saw Caspar swinging the backside of his axe rather than the sharpened blade.

Caspar tilted his axe just enough to slam into Felix’s head with the broadside of his weapon. The force of the impact tilted Felix’s head away from Caspar and sent him crashing to the ground. Darting forward, Caspar held the axe over his head in preparation for Felix to swing right back at him. Mercifully his old sparring partner laid on the ground with his head and hair splayed to the side.

A purple welt was starting to form on Felix’s forehead while a red imprint in the shape of the side of his axe axe colored his cheek. A curved cut lightly bled on Felix’s cheek.

Caspar swung the axe down and planted it in the earth next to Felix’s head, leaving it there.

“Guess I didn’t tilt it enough… Sorry, Felix,” Caspar apologized as he let out a deep breath. “I have someone I need to get back to.”

As Caspar turned to leave, he wrapped hand around the grip of Felix’s blade and started to pull it out.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Caspar muttered through the process of removing it, slightly regretting his spur of the moment plan. The searing pain in his hand was dulled by the throbbing on his forehead. When he removed the sword, he glanced at it in respect. He prepared to toss it aside when he caught a glimpse of something drawing closer on the blade.

Caspar almost dropped the blade as he jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding a glowing lance. He spun on his heels to see a mop of red hair holding the weapon, something Caspar quickly recognized as the Lance of Ruin.

“S-Sylvain?” Caspar replied, not expecting to see him standing.

Caspar did a quick once over and noticed a javelin discarded at his feet. Blood trailed down from Sylvain’s shoulder where a dark hole barely contrasted against his armor. Sylvain’s left arm hung limply at his side while his right hand gripped the lance.

For the first time in Caspar’s life he saw no trace of mirth or warmth on Sylvain’s face. An expression more at home on Felix’s face found itself on there. It wasn’t a cool, calculated anger but rather a burning hatred that lit Sylvain’s eyes.

“Ruined Sky!” Sylvain uttered with a deep boom that sent a shiver down Caspar’s spine.

The Lance of Ruin glowed a deep blue and the crest stone flashed with the symbol of House Gautier as Sylvain thrust it forward.

With little time to prepare, Caspar tried to parry the oncoming attack with Felix’s sword. There was a brief crackle of energy as the two weapons impacted with each other. Despite not being a swordsman, Caspar knew enough to divert the blow but not enough to recognize the sword wasn’t an axe. The blade shattered from the force of the parry.

Sylvain furrowed his brow at Caspar’s quick thinking but soon went wide-eyed.

Caspar didn’t understand the reaction until Sylvain pulled his lance back. It took Caspar a moment to realize that something was missing from the Lance of Ruin, namely it tip and the crest stone. He glanced back to see it imbedded in the dirt a bit away.

“Uh, is that supposed to happen?” Caspar wondered.

“Shut up!” Sylvain growled back, readying his lance despite the lack of a blade.

Caspar took a brawler stance, but immediately hissed when he clenched his left hand. He briefly forgot about his earlier wound. He didn’t have much time to think about it as the Lance of Ruin came within his personal space once more.

Unlike before, Sylvain aimed the spines of the lance instead of its usual tip.

While Caspar dodged part of the blow, one of the spines clipped his armor and sliced through it. However, the spine fell off after the attack.

Caspar clutched at his side where the spine pierced. He stumbled a bit as a wave of dizziness overtook him. He caught himself but realized that he’d been losing blood for a while.

Despite not cutting deep with his earlier strikes, Felix still sliced the warrior in quite a few places.

Sensing Caspar’s weakness, Sylvain stepped forward with the Lance of Ruin at his side.

“Someone’s looking woozy.”

Caspar readied himself once more.

“I can still take you… All you got is a broken stick!” Caspar put on a tough front but knew he had to end the fight soon. When he saw Sylvain also stumble mid-stride he grinned. “You’re not looking so hot yourself.”

One of Sylvain’s trademark smiles found its way onto his face but the hatred in his eyes never changed.

“Oh, you have no idea how hot I can be,” Sylvain replied, his voice dark and full of vitriol.

Caspar felt his gut twist itself in knots, trying to better understand the enigma in front of him. In any other situation Caspar would’ve guessed those words and smirk would’ve charmed a one of the many ladies Sylvain always seemed to pursue without end, but here it felt like Caspar was seeing a side of the red head he never knew existed.

In the distance the muffled sounds of cheering could be heard. Neither warrior acknowledged it, only each glaring at each other.

Not wanting to prolong the fight, Caspar charged forward with all his strength so he could hopefully get a good blow to knock Sylvain down. He furrowed his brow when he saw Sylvain plant his feet in a wide stance, not something he expected from a lancer.

When Caspar got within range of his weapon, Sylvain spun around on his heels. He swung the Lance of Ruin like an axe. Sylvain swung it horizontally, aiming for Caspar’s side. Almost spinning in a complete circle, Sylvain connected the end of his weapon with Caspar’s charging body.

Caspar realized too late the maneuver Sylvain pulled, not having the strength nor dexterity to avoid the blow. He raised his good arm to block what he could but the immense force as well as the spines of the Lance of Ruin digging into him knocked him off his feet. Caspar tumbled to the side and took part of the lance with him.

When Sylvain pulled his weapon back he saw the end of it missing, its broken pieces scattered amongst the grass Caspar flattened as he rolled away.

Caspar came to a stop within eyesight of Felix, his vision blurring while he stared at the downed swordsman. A burning sensation left his right arm utterly useless and breathing was difficult. He managed to slowly push himself to his knees with his left hand, despite the blood gushing out from his earlier wound.

Sylvain spat out some of the blood pooling in his mouth, starting the trek over to Caspar.

Caspar tilted his head back, his body struggling to take a deep breath. He stared at the sky through half-lidded eyes.

If not for the adrenaline and seething rage keeping Sylvain upright, he might’ve been impressed Caspar was still conscious. Two spines from the Lance of Ruin were imbedded in him. One in his arm and one in his side. Caspar’s right arm looked beyond battered and hung limply at his side, not unlike Sylvain’s left arm.

As soon as Sylvain entered Caspar’s vision, the blue-haired fighter cracked a smile.

“I’ve got you now…” Caspar muttered, barely audible. “You don’t have a weapon…”

Sylvain chuckled darkly at that.

“True,” Sylvain agreed, letting the remainder of his lance fall uselessly into the grass. He held out his hand towards Caspar’s face. An orange ball of fire began to glow in his palm. “But I do have my magic still.”

“Well, shit…” Caspar’s face paled as a cold sweat took over. The warmth of the flame lulled his eyes closed as his thoughts went to his son. Memories of Marcus filled his mind, from him taking his first steps to their frequent brawling sessions. Marcus’ many nonstop declarations brought a tiny smile to Caspar’s face as his consciousness started to fade. Caspar’s last train of thought before the darkness overtook him was ruffling Marcus’ blue-gray hair and staring at his freckled face, full of pride and smiling a toothy grin. “I’m sorry…”

Sylvain narrowed his eyes as his body screamed at him. He tried to maintain his focus on the flames but found it harder with blood pooling in his boots, his own blood. He watched Caspar succumb to his injuries as a stray tear went down his cheek. Uninterested in the slayer of his best friend’s last moments, Sylvain prepared to fire his spell when some shouting caught his attention.

“Sylvain? Sylvain, we won! That battle is over!” Ashe’s cheery voice snapped him back to reality.

Sylvain heard some more footsteps behind him come to a halt. 

“Felix!” A distinctly female voice reacted.

Sylvain craned his neck to see Ashe holding a hand to mouth, his eyes wide from horror while Ingrid was already at Felix’s side. Ashe’s eyes weren’t focused on Felix’s body however.

“Good, let me finish this,” Sylvain replied in his usual cheery tune, though it contrasted sharply with the expression on his face.

“Wait, the battle is over! We don’t need to kill anymore!” Ashe pleaded, running forward to try and catch Sylvain before he unleashed his fire spell.

Sylvain let out an ugly snort, trying to maintain his focus though the fireball started to flicker.

“Not yet. Not till I avenge Felix,” Sylvain informed the others. Just as he prepared to release the spell, Sylvain’s body caught up to him. He fell to his knees as the strength began to leave him. The fire flickered out. “Fuck. Not yet…”

Ashe dove to his side, holding his hand down.

“Don’t, please. Its over!” Ashe pleaded, his face more pale than usual.

“But Felix-”

“He’s alive, Sylvain!” Ingrid called out, letting out a sigh. “He’s alive.”

Sylvain’s shoulders slumped as relief flooded him. His arm fell to his side, finally giving up on the spell.

“Oh, goodie,” Sylvain smiled as his expression relaxed. With that, he fell forward face first onto Caspar’s lap, completely knocked out.

Ashe quickly slipped off his glove and placed two fingers on Caspar’s neck. Panic surged through him as he tried to find any trace of a pulse. He waited for only a second but it felt like an eternity. When he felt the faint rhythm of a heartbeat he released a deep breath.

“Thank the goddess,” Ashe spoke, worry still in his voice. He slipped out his strongest potion from his pack. He pulled the cork off and placed it against Caspar’s lips. He slowly fed the liquid to Caspar, careful to not drown him. “Just stay with me a bit longer, please.”

While Ashe took care of Caspar, Ingrid walked over. She quirked an eyebrow at Ashe’s reaction but sat down to attend to Sylvain. She didn’t acknowledge Ashe’s actions with words but watched with a concerned expression.

\---

Further from across the battlefield a pair of eyes surveyed the situation. They watched intently until they saw more soldiers appear and take away the unconscious warriors. Content they wouldn’t see anymore, the Adrestian solider hopped down from the tree, landing beside Ferdinand.

“Well?” Ferdinand asked. “Where is he?”

“He has been captured. There is nothing more we can be doing,” Petra informed him, her voice solemn.

“What?! But we must-”

Petra shot him a glare that quieted him.

“The fight is lost and so is our friend. I am not thinking he is dead but we cannot be doing anything like this.”

Ferdinand clenched his fist but nodded in agreement.

“Fine, let us return to her Majesty. The least I can do for Caspar is return his son to his rightful family.”

With that, Ferdinand leaned on Petra as they began the long hike back to their camp, and eventually Fort Merceus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between the fights, Hubert's threats, and Marcus being Marcus this was a really fun chapter to write, if only a bit long as a result. I never thought it but Hubert and blood-lust Dimitri are surprisingly fun to write for, I almost wish they got more banter.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts and if you like where this is going!
> 
> Next time Marcus gets to meet his family...


	4. Ferdinand Von...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion leaves no one untouched.
> 
> TW: Blood and Surgery

“Will you get down here? We must make haste!” Ferdinand shouted at a tree, ducking out of the path of a fruit. “Don’t waste rations!”

“I want my papa!” Marcus’ voice echoed from the branches. His tear-stained face broke through the leaves as he lobbed another apple at Ferdinand.

“I already – ow! I told you he’s been taken prisoner! We must retreat before recapturing him,” Ferdinand tried to logic but only received more pelting.

“No!”

Marcus pulled back into the treetop though the sound of his sobbing reached Ferdinand’s ears.

Ferdinand let out a sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Marcus, you mustn’t cry. It’s unbecoming of a noble such as yourself,” Ferdinand chided the kid. He didn’t acknowledge Petra or Hubert as they approached to see the commotion. “Caspar sacrificed himself to protect me and-”

“Cause you’re weak! You said you were stronger than papa!”

Ferdinand’s jaw dropped but he quickly picked it back up when he saw the smirk on Hubert’s face.

“On my honor, I swear as Ferdinand von Aegir-“

A pine cone shot from the treetop and hit Ferdinand right on the nose.

“You’re Ferdinand von Liar!”

That insult had Ferdinand slumping his shoulders while his two friends laughed at his expense. Petra tried to suppress her giggles with a hand over her mouth but Hubert simply cackled.

“Told off by a mere child, how joyous,” Hubert commented, regaining his composure. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wrapped sphere. “Here, Petra. Perhaps you’ll have more luck than him.”

Petra took the object and inspected it. It fit in the palm of her hand and was wrapped in a brilliant red paper that crinkled under her touch.

“What is this?” Petra wondered. She poked at it with a finger before glancing up to Hubert.

“Candy. Kids tend to like sweets,” he answered with a wicked grin.

Upon hearing that Petra nodded, smiling widely.

“Ah yes, children like such things!” Petra agreed. “Marcus, please be climbing down! I have a gift!”

After a few moments Marcus’ head poked out form the treetop, upside and a mess of twigs and leaves in his hair. Though he had no tears on his face, the streaks were visible in the moonlight.

“Huh? Princess lady?” Marcus replied.

“Yes, my name Petra. Are you feeling the hunger?”

Petra held up her hand with the candy.

Marcus stared at her, then at Ferdinand and Hubert, and then back to Petra. He disappeared into the treetop for a few seconds before descending down the trunk slowly. With only a few feet left to the ground he dropped to the grass with a quiet grunt.

“Papa said you were strong,” Marcus spoke quietly as he dashed to her side.

Petra bent down to give him the candy.

“I will be thanking him when we meet again,” Petra spoke while Marcus unwrapped the candy to reveal a chocolate ball. “But for now we must go.”

Pausing, Marcus frowned.

“No! Not without papa!”

The kid punctuated that statement by stomping his foot in the grass.

“It is like this. We must be taking a step back to regain our strength. Then we save your father.”

Marcus softened his expression. He sniffed loudly as he stared at the candy.

“Why?”

Petra hummed in thought, tapping her index finger against her chin.

“Ah, are you familiar with hunting or fishing?”

Ferdinand watched with a puzzled expression while Hubert narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, I help papa fish for food. One time I caught one this big!” Marcus nodded, stretching his hands as far apart as he could.

Ferdinand scoffed at the thought but Petra beamed a bright smile.

“That is very good! You will be making a great fisherman one day!”

Marcus grinned a toothy smile at the compliment but shook his head.

“I don’t wanna be a fisherman, I wanna be a warrior princess like you! I told papa yesterday!”

Feeling a bit better, Marcus finally popped the candy into his mouth. When he felt the chocolate on his tongue he began sucking on it loudly.

That statement caught all three adults by surprise. Where Ferdinand’s face twisted in confusion and Hubert quirked an eyebrow, Petra’s mouth dropped slightly and a blush rose on her cheeks.

“You are wanting to be like me?” She echoed back, earning a fierce nod.

“Yeah! I’m gonna be the strongest!”

Petra’s shoulders fell and a gentle smile rose on her face. “That is so-”

“Petra, we have a timetable to keep,” Hubert reminded her.

Petra straightened up.

“Yes, sorry. The point I was making. We are like the fisherman and your father is the fish. We are needing to put the worm on the hook to catch him. Now we must get the worm,” Petra tried to explain.

Marcus stayed quiet as he tried to process her words.

“So we can catch papa?” Marcus asked, earning a nod from Petra.

“Exactly, so we must be making the haste.”

Marcus clenched his tiny fists but began marching towards a nearby horse. He took all of five steps before collapsing to the ground.

“Marcus!” Ferdinand shouted as he dropped to the boy’s side. When he turned the boy over he found him breathing peacefully. “What the?”

“He must’ve tired himself out crying,” Hubert suggested with a devious smirk.

Ferdinand glared at Hubert.

“Did you drug that candy?”

Hubert rolled his eyes as he turned towards the horses.

“Relax, it’s merely something to knock one out.”

Petra frowned.

“Why are you having such things?” She inquired.

“Chocolate has many uses and one never knows when something like that will come in handy. Now let us finally be on our way.”

As if on cue, Marcus began coughing up a storm and specs of blood flew onto Ferdinand’s armor.

“What the?! Hubert!” Ferdinand glared at him.

Hubert turned to observe the bloody mess until Marcus’ coughs came to an end. He was still breathing peacefully but with flecks of blood covering his torso now. It took Hubert a few moments to feel the searing gazes of Ferdinand and Petra on him.

“Interesting. I promise that the candy had nothing to do with that.” He answered the accusation.

Petra continued glaring at Hubert but Ferdinand spoke up.

“He did something similar when I first met him. Perhaps we should pay a visit to a medic first.”

“Then do it at Fort Merceus. We’ve already lost enough time as is. Let’s go.”

Petra picked up Marcus and cradled him in her arms as she approached her horse.

“Then we will be seeing Linhardt when we arrive.” She stated, climbing her horse and keeping the sleeping child close.

\---

“What do you mean it’s broken?” Dimitri’s voice echoed inside the tent, a mixture of confusion and hurt. The last throes of sunlight flitted in and glinted in his good eye. Though hidden in the shade, Dimitri’s fresh tear streaks reflected in the light. “How can one of the Heroes’ Relics break?!”

“It apparently shattered during the battle, your Majesty,” the scout reported, laying a cloth in the center of the war council. He unfurled it to reveal pieces of the Lance of Ruin. The body of the lance sat in the center of it all.

Ingrid pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. She muttered, “Sylvain, you idiot.”

A few grumbles from the other officers concurred with Ingrid’s curt assessment.

“Indeed. Is it repairable?” Dimitri wondered.

The guard glanced at someone wearing a tool belt who stepped forward. They spoke, “With the right tools and materials, yes. We can mend it once we return to the monastery. But due to its current state it won’t be easy or cheap.”

Byleth’s neutral face soured for a moment but nodded.

“Have it fixed then.” Dimitri ordered, leaning back against his chair. A tired expression rested on his face briefly until he looked around him. It took the crown prince a moment to notice the nervous glances exchanged between the soldiers. “Is there something more?”

“Yes, there’s a slight problem,” Ingrid spoke, meeting her prince’s gaze. “There are several pieces still stuck in Caspar.”

Ingrid’s eyes briefly looked at Ashe who sat next to her, briefly assessing him as she mentioned Caspar. While Ingrid couldn’t see any outward changes in Ashe’s demeanor, the boy’s stomach sank to his feet.

From across the room, Professor Casagranda went wide-eyed.

Dimitri straightened up at that information.

“Wait, Caspar von Bergliez?” Dimitri asked, to which Ingrid nodded. “Why wasn’t I informed of his appearance in the battle?”

Ingrid glanced at Rodrigues’s now empty chair and took a deep. “Given the sudden events after the battle with Duke Fraldarius’ untimely death there wasn’t an opportune moment until now. To keep it short, Caspar fought Felix and Sylvain. He is responsible for their injuries.”

“I see. So he’s the reason why Felix doesn’t know his father has passed.”

The room sat in an uncomfortable silence as everyone watched Dimitri process the information.

Dimitri grasped one of his armrests and clenched his fist around it. The sound of wood splintering did little to lighten the tense mood.

Eventually Dimitri released his grip and regained his composure. “Then remove the pieces and reassemble the Lance of Ruin.”

“And what of Caspar? The pieces will require surgery to remove,” Ingrid inquired.

A familiar darkness returned to Dimitri’s eye as he mulled the decision briefly.

“Just remove the pieces. He made his bed and shall reap his rewards.”

What little color was left in Ashe’s face drained upon hearing those words. His voice caught in his throat as his body itched to speak back. However, a lifetime of commoner decorum held his tongue.

“My lord, if I may,” Manuela spoke hurriedly, standing up from her spot near Seteth. “I can remove the pieces and keep him alive. It’d be simple enough with my magic and skill.”

All eyes fell on Manuela.

“If you have the magic to save his life then use it on our soldiers. Many of the wounded still need treatment.”

Manuela frowned at the thought.

“I ask that you reconsider, your Majesty. Having a prisoner as valuable as him could prove useful. As I reported earlier, Felix only has a concussion and Sylvain’s wounds were shallow enough.”

“I have spoken my thoughts,” Dimitri shook his head, causing Manuela to sit down though her expression didn’t change. “Now if there’s nothing else, leave me be. I have other matters to attend to.”

Dimitri’s expression softened as he gazed longingly at the empty chair to his right.

Ashe sat for only a moment until he felt Ingrid’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Ashe, but her words didn’t register with him.

Ashe nodded before rising and exiting the tent with the others. He walked in a direction away from everyone else and away from the celebrating soldiers. It had only been hours since their victory but the cheering grated against Ashe’s ears.

As Ashe escaped to the edge of camp where the noise couldn’t reach him, his thoughts found him. Leaning against a tree, Ashe exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Everything felt cold and distant to him even in the summer night. A tingling sensation danced across his skin, causing Ashe to scratch at it. Yet no matter how hard he tried the feeling didn’t fade.

“Caspar…” Ashe’s soft voice trembled.

Despite being over five years since his friend and one time whatever they were left him, Ashe’s heart still beat loudly in his ears. Feelings he long since buried reemerged when he saw Caspar’s injured body kneeling on the battlefield.

Ashe _knew_ he could run into Caspar at some point during the war. He _knew_ if they did it would be on opposing sides. He _knew_ it meant one might have to kill the other.

But that knowledge did little to prepare him for the eventual outcome.

“Focus on something else,” Ashe spoke to himself, trying to distract him from the tightness in his chest.

Unfortunately the only thoughts Ashe could conjure were the first years of the war. Fighting for House Rowe under allegiance to the empire, struggling to keep together his adoptive father’s territory as the de facto heir to house Gaspard, and his sudden departure to meet his classmates in hopes they kept to their vow from so many moons ago.

Ashe didn’t even realize he was pressing his eyes shut until a familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

“Ashe? Ashe! Are you awake?” Professor Manuela all but shouted at him.

“Ah, yes!” Ashe jumped, startled from his thoughts. He almost fell over from the quick movement. “Professor?”

“Hello, Ashe, I hope I wasn’t interrupting some important brooding,” Manuela teased, a smirk resting on her lips.

Ashe blushed at the thought but thankfully the red of the sunset hid it.

“I- I wasn’t brooding. Just thinking about today.”

Manuela quirked an eyebrow but her smirk didn’t fade.

“Well whatever it was it mustn’t have been pleasant. Your face looked like you bit into a lemon.”

Manuela giggled at her own joke though Ashe sighed. He scratched the back of his head.

“You could say that. Anyways, how can I help you, professor?”

Manuela’s face lit up upon hearing those words.

“Just what I was hoping you’d ask. I was wondering if you would be a dear and assist me with a task of the utmost importance.”

Ashe tilted his head in confusion, but Manuela gestured with her nose back to camp.

“Right now? What is it?”

Seeing Manuela already starting to walk back towards the tents, Ashe jogged to catch up to her.

“Just following his Highness’ orders, nothing too important,” Manuela answered but not completely. “Now tell me, what has your pretty little face all scrunched up? It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you so distraught.”

Ashe’s eyes fell to the ground as he followed the professor.

“I was… reminiscing about the last few years,” Ashe told a half-truth.

Manuela pressed her lips together and let out a thoughtful hum.

“About your service to House Rowe?”

Shaking his head, Ashe clarified.

“Sort of. I did my duty but in the end I ran away from it, from my home, and from my siblings. I was thinking about how I never said goodbye, despite how much I knew it’d hurt my brother and sister. If I told them what I was going to do, I don’t think I would’ve had the strength to do what I did and I would’ve died in Ailell with Lord Gwendal.”

As Ashe explained his thoughts to his former professor he didn’t notice where she lead him.

“Well, as someone who left their homeland and is now fighting against it I can empathize,” Manuela replied, stopping for a moment to meet Ashe’s gaze. “The best advice I can give is that there are rarely any right or wrong choices in this world, only the ones we make. I’m sure your friends are thankful to have your skills assisting them through this war and they’re very lucky to have you by their side.”

Ashe nodded along but the weight of his thoughts pulled his mouth into a frown.

“Yeah…”

“Which conveniently segues to my request. I’m about to make a tough choice and I need your help with it,” Manuela smiled darkly, turning to continue leading Ashe past a group of revelers.

“Professor?”

Ashe shifted his shoulder to avoid hitting a drunk soldier.

“You see, Ashe, I’m a woman of many talents: a songstress, a physician, but first and foremost a teacher. And I can’t sit idly by and watch one of my former students expire when I can just as easily save his life.”

Freezing in his steps, Ashe’s jaw fell as his thoughts guessed where this conversation was going.

“You don’t mean-”

Glancing over her shoulder, Manuela nodded.

“Yes I do. I can easily follow Dimitri’s order and still save my student. I’m asking for your help because I know you two were good friends back in the academy. If don’t wish to help that fine I just ask that you keep this between-”

Before Manuela could even finish Ashe was already at her side, a look of determination on his face.

“No, let’s go.”

Knowing the task at hand, Ashe powerwalked towards the medical tent with Manuela smiling behind.

“Wait for me!”

As Ashe approached the tent, he felt a tug on his arm. He turned to see Manuela pointing to a different tent a few over. He silently followed her as she walked through the flap. However, he froze at the entrance when he saw what was inside.

Rows of cots lined the area like the medical tent, despite being a much smaller space. Soldiers filled almost all of them, though Ashe didn’t recognize any of them save for one in the corner. Fewer aids walked around attending the soldiers.

Ashe’s eyes followed Manuela as she navigated to the corner where a blue haired boy quietly laid.

“Ashe, would you be a sweetie and grab the other end of this? The operating area is behind that screen,” Manuela requested, pointing to a small corner where a large canvas screen barely separated the corner from the rest of the tent.

“Yes, ma’am!”

Quickly but quietly Ashe jogged over and did as asked.

Together they moved Caspar across the tent where a lantern flickered, casting shadows.

Now able to see, Ashe softly gasped at the sight below him.

Caspar laid with his chest bare, pieces of the lance jutting out of his arm and near his ribcage. Faint, pink lines covered his arm and side, fresh wounds from his earlier duel. However it was the shape of his arm that had Ashe wincing. Despite the aide of the elixir earlier, Caspar’s arm remained crooked and it appeared pieces of bone pressed against various part of his skin.

While Ashe took in Caspar, Manuela prepared some tools and grabbed a leather case. She opened it on a small wooden table near the cot.

“Ashe, be a dear and use these to strap him down. This won’t be a pleasant experience for any of us but if Caspar moves I risk hurting him more,” Manuela informed Ashe, giving him several leather belts. “Bind his wrists, ankles, and waist as best you can. He’s stronger than he looks.”

“That much is certain,” Ashe smiled fondly for a moment. He followed Manuela’s instructions as best he could, securing Caspar to the cot. He tightened the straps, even getting his injured arm.

After Ashe tied Caspar down, Manuela stepped over with a big leather block in her hand. She opened Caspar’s mouth enough to slip it in between his teeth.

“I don’t want him biting off his tongue since this is going to hurt him quite a bit. I need you to hold his shoulders down and make sure he’s as still as possible. He’s going to be writhing around quite a bit,” Manuela said as she washed her hands in a tub of water, drying them off on a nearby towel.

Ashe knitted his brow at that information.

“Can’t you give him something to dull the pain?”

“The only thing I have is my personal flask of alcohol and I can’t risk thinning his blood. We also can’t risk getting caught by asking around for painkillers either,” Manuela sighed. “And to make things worse, while the potion you fed him earlier saved his life, it also set his wounds with the pieces of the lance still inside and his arm healed incorrectly. This is going to be like reinjuring him all over again.”

Ashe’s stomach twisted at that information but some part of his brain rationalized it was all to save Caspar’s life. His heart wasn’t listening to his brain though.

Placing his hands on Caspar’s shoulders, Ashe steeled himself once more for the operation to come.

“I’m ready.”

Manuela pinched the piece of the Lance of Ruin in Caspar’s chest in between her thumb and index finger, meeting Ashe’s gaze once more. She held a scalpel in her other hand.

“Good, that makes one of us. Get ready. I’m going to have to cut deep to loosen this piece.”

With that, Manuela began cutting at the flesh attached to the broken blade. Slowly she pierced the skin until blood began to leak around the incision. As she broke the skin, some quiet grunts began to escape her patient.

Caspar’s brow furrowed from the slight pain and his lips pressed together, but he still remained knocked out for the time being.

Sweat trickled down the back of Manuela’s neck as she slowly worked the scalpel deeper around the metal shrapnel. She kept her tool flush to the blade as best she could but soon the first of many pained screams erupted from Caspar, causing her to jump for an instant.

Caspar’s eyes popped open and widened as pain set his body on fire. A searing pain from his side spread across his torso and set his nerves alight. He tried to yell as it stirred him from his slumber. His yells were muffled by the solid block of leather in his mouth.

Ashe pushed against Caspar when he felt his friend come to life.

“Uh, professor-“

“Not now, sweetie, I’m working. Just keep him in place!”

Ashe glanced up to see the normally impeccable Manuela Casagranda with her face scrunched. Strands of hair hung out of place while blood coated her hands.

The skin around the wound separated as Manuela cut deeper. She occasionally paused to check on how deep the blade cut, and continued until she eventually found the bottom of the Lance of Ruin piece. Manuela separated what tissue should could before pulling her scalpel out from the deep wound.

Caspar bit into the block, his fists clenching and body writhing. The searing pain spread across his entire being but he could feel the pressure of restraints or someone holding him down. He moved with such force that the cracking of wood could be heard. A mixture of nausea and pain disoriented the poor mercenary.

Even with all the mental preparation, Ashe couldn’t truly steel himself to meet Caspar’s eyes for the first time in five years when they suddenly opened wide. Ashe’s skin crawled when Caspar’s muffled shouts reached his ear as he struggled underneath Ashe’s firm grasp.

“Caspar, its’ okay! It’s me, Ashe! We’re trying to heal you but you have weapons in you still! Please try to still!” Ashe tried to soothe his friend’s fears but it seems his words fell on deaf ears. Whether Ashe was trying to reassure Caspar or himself he didn’t know.

Caspar continued to wriggle under his touch while Manuela worked on him.

Dropping the scalpel on the table, she grabbed a nearby rag and dried as much blood as she could before returning to the broken blade. She gripped it with one hand and started to carefully remove it. Bit by bit it was dislodged from Caspar’s chest. 

Caspar screamed as loud as his body let him while Manuela performed her task.

“Just a little bit more, hang on, Caspar,” she muttered.

Even with Ashe’s assistance, Caspar managed to move quite a bit and succeeded it jostling the blade. The wound widened from his writhing.

“Professor, heal him!” Ashe begged as he watched more blood drain from his friend.

“Not until I get the piece out otherwise we’ll have to do this again. Only a little more!”

After what felt like an eternity of screaming, the piece came loose. Manuela successfully pulled out the first piece stuck in Caspar and dropped it with dull thud in a nearby bucket. Next she quickly placed both her hands over the chest wound and focused on it. As she did so, her hands glowed green with healing magic.

“Looks like the blade stayed together so that’s the life-threatening one,” Manuela informed Ashe over Caspar’s loud screams.

Ashe frowned as he observed his former professor. The deep wound on Caspar’s chest remained a blood soaked mess but the Ashe knew that the magic was resealing it from the inside out. In a few moments the blood stopped gushing and it leveled out. Even with that knowledge, Ashe’s stomach remained twisted in knots and the lump in his throat grew by the second.

Caspar continued to yell even as he felt the searing pain begin to cool. The fire in his chest dampened and his nerves quieted, allowing his lungs a chance to finally breathe. His voice softened and his breathing steadied. A relaxing sensation coaxed his body to stop wriggling.

Manuela eventually pulled her hands back after the wound stitched itself back shut. Once she confirmed Caspar was indeed still alive and breathing, she dipped her hands the bucket to clean them and fell onto a wooden stool.

“Well, that’s one down,” Manuela commented, drying her hands on a clean rag. She ran her fingers through her hair and set it back into place.

Caspar’s eyes blinked for a few seconds before meeting Ashe’s gaze.

Where Ashe expected Caspar to react or focus on him, he only saw a glazed over look that faded into unconsciousness. When Caspar closed his eyes Ashe felt his chest tighten.

“Caspar! Don’t you die on me!”

“Ashe, honey, its okay. He’s just lost a lot of blood. Go ahead and feed him a vulnerary to help him recover some. We’ll continue after he’s had some time to heal.”

Ashe let out a deep breath and his shoulders slumped.

“Yes, of course, professor.”

Ashe glanced around the tent until Manuela pointed at a wooden crate nearby. After digging a dusty glass bottle from it, Ashe returned and pulled the leather block from Caspar’s mouth. He frowned upon noticing the deep teeth impressions in it. Regardless, he uncorked the bottle with a dull pop and fed it to his friend.

When Ashe finished his task, he dropped the bottle on the table and took a seat on the medical crate.

“That was more intense than I expected,” Ashe admitted, earning a chuckle from Manuela.

“Everyone thinks of medicine and healing as tranquil but when it comes to battlefield wounds that’s far from the truth. The only real peace is the recovery after the surgery,” Manuela informed Ashe. As she watched him take in more of Caspar’s details a stray thought entered her mind. “Say, Ashe, you were there when he was found, correct?”

“Huh? Yeah, he was already beaten by Sylvain.”

Ashe felt the urge to card his fingers through Caspar’s hair, now longer than when he last knew him but he restrained himself. Instead he thrummed him fingers anxiously against his thigh but remained focused on Caspar.

“Was he by himself?”

That question drew Ashe’s gaze away for a moment.

“Yes, why?”

Manuela chewed on her bottom lip for a moment but returned a practice smile.

“Oh, no reason. I was curious if he was protecting someone or something. Fighting Sylvain and Felix is quite the task. These wounds are quite severe.”

Ashe frowned at the thought.

“Yeah, Sylvain seemed to think Caspar killed Felix. I’ve never seen him so bloodthirsty.”

Ashe missed Manuela quirking an eyebrow at that information.

“Passion can drive one to commit brutal acts. If he thought Caspar killed one of his close friends then that might explain why. Greater operas have been based on lesser deeds,” Manuela speculated.

Ashe nodded along though he didn’t quite grasp what she was insinuating.

The two only had a moment to muse before the tent flap opened and other voice echoed inside.

“I heard the screaming from here, Professor,” Ingrid’s level tone reached the ears of the others.

Ashe and Manuela barely had a moment to stand before Ingrid and Byleth stepped in far enough to see the pair over Caspar’s resting body. All four froze in their positions. Silence hung over them while Byleth and Ingrid took in everything.

Ingrid’s mouth slowly fell open with a dumbfounded expression on her face.

Byleth remained unreadable though he broke the tension with a question.

“What are you two doing here?”

Ashe looked like a deer in headlights with his eyes wide open yet Manuela retained her composure.

“Good evening, professor,” Manuela spoke. “Ashe was simply assisting me in fulfilling his Majesty’s request to retrieve the pieces of the Lance from Caspar’s body.”

Byleth narrowed his eyes but Ingrid interrupted before he could reply.

“By keeping him alive? We can see you removed the piece but why is his chest healed?” Ingrid asked with an accusatory edge in her voice.

Ashe flinched from the harsh tone but replied. “Well, you see-”

“Yes I’m keeping him alive,” Manuela cut in, her voice still steady. “I won’t pretend I’ve actively healed him but as a physician and teacher I won’t let a student die a pointless death if I can do something about it. This war has already claimed too many lives.”

Ingrid scoffed at the thought but Byleth stepped forward.

A tiny smile graced Byleth’s face as he nodded. “I understand but you’re going against Dimitri’s direct orders.”

Manuela shook her head. “He’s getting his pieces and I standby the fact Caspar is more valuable alive rather than dead. At best we have a new recruit and at worst an important prisoner.”

Ashe watched with quiet admiration as Manuela spoke her thoughts, despite being caught in the wrong. At least she was in the wrong in his mind, though his heart begged to differ.

“Please, professor,” Ashe found his voice speaking before his mind caught up to him. He momentarily froze when he felt everyone’s eyes on him. “He’s fought with us before and he may again. He deserves a chance to make that choice.”

Ingrid tilted her head, squinting at him. “What’s gotten into you? He almost killed Felix and Sylvain!”

“But he didn’t! That has to mean something.”

Ingrid moved to speak but Byleth raised his hand and quieted her.

“Speculating on that battle will get us nowhere. As a professor I understand your sentiment Manuela. Out of respect for how he helped the Blue Lions in the past I’ll help with getting the rest of Lance of Ruin out of him,” Byleth offered with a gentle smile, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “I should have enough power to assist.”

“But professor!” Ingrid objected. “He ran away from the monastery when Adrestia attacked! He’ll never help us!”

At that Manuela spoke up. “Don’t hold that against him, dear. He had responsibility thrust upon him that prevented his assistance. I assure you he would’ve fought off the Empire with us if circumstances allowed.”

That bit of information caught Ashe’s interest but he had little time to follow up as Byleth and Manuela walked over to a resting Caspar.

“Ingrid, Dimitri trusts my decisions. We’ll discuss it with him once he’s had more time to grieve and we return to the monastery. Until then, please help.”

Begrudgingly, Ingrid stepped forward to grab Caspar’s legs while Ashe returned to the boy’s shoulders. She could at least find some solace in Caspar’s screams as the two professors worked to knit his bones back to their proper shape with magic and surgically removed the last pieces of the lance.

Ashe tried to maintain a neutral façade during the procedure but he could only do so much watching Caspar suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Ashe is back though Caspar and Marcus are separated. Also gotta love Manuela, despite being a hot mess on the best of days. I was hoping to get more scenes in but both segments ended up having more depth than I intended but I liked all of it.
> 
> Please let me know what you all think! Comments give me life.


	5. Two Brain Cells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus meets his maker while Felix gets to have his A+ support conversation with Sylvain

“Miss Petra, where are we?” Marcus asked, clinging to Petra’s side as they walked towards the entrance of a rather large manor. Servants and guards cast curious glances but none spoke their questions.

Resting a hand on Marcus’s shoulder, Petra offered a warm smile. “We are visiting a friend of your father. He is good with the healing.”

A low grumble escaped the child but he didn’t vocalize his complaints. Instead he stayed close while another servant led them to the entrance.

“I’ll go fetch the young master, please wait here,” the servant woman informed the pair, leaving Marcus unnerved.

Unlike the forests and countryside he wandered all his life, Marcus found himself surrounded by open fields and trimmed hedges. It felt incredibly foreign to the young boy.

Sensing the boy’s discomfort, Petra knelt down at eye level with Marcus.

“Marcus, be strong. I am understanding how hard it is to be away from one’s family but we will get your father back,” Petra smiled, reaching out to ruffle Marcus’s mop of silvery hair. She met his big, blue eyes with a gentle expression. “I was like you before, away from my family.”

Hearing that, Marcus tilted his head.

“R-really?” He whispered back. He pressed his lips together as he tried to imagine it.

“Yes, I lost my father when I was your age and had to live in a strange place. I did not know anyone or the language,” Petra recalled with a slight frown. She met his gaze once more, seeing it full of curiosity and wonder. “But do you know what got me through?”

“Was it your sword?” Marcus asked earnestly, wide-eyed and in suspense. “Because you’re so strong!”

Petra chuckled at the idea.

“No, I was not that strong,” Petra admitted. Her confession caused Marcus’s jaw to drop. “It took me time but I learned more about this strange land. I met people. Some were mean, some were kind. But I made friends. Your father was one and so is this man we are going to be meeting.”

Marcus frowned but nodded at each detail.

“So you met friends?”

Grinning widely, Petra gave him a thumbs up.

“That is exactly the point I am making! It is scary but will help. Today you are making a new friend!”

Straightening up, Marcus gave Petra a serious expression and clenched his fists.

“Okay, I can make a friend!”

As if on cue, the door to the manor opened. Marcus let out a yelp and scurried behind Petra as the servant from before reappeared with a green-haired noble.

“Ah, Petra, what a pleasant surprise. You woke me up from my midday nap,” Linhardt informed her, offering a tired smile. “To what do I owe a visit? How was Gronder?”

At the mention of the battle Petra’s warm expression faded.

“I am sorry for interrupting but we were not able to claim the victory,” Petra informed him with a somber look.

“I see. Does the emperor require my healing services then?” Linhardt guessed, furrowing his brow.

“Something like that!” Petra nodded, his expression lighting up once more. She stepped to the side and gestured to the small child. “He is the first person needing your help.”

Linhardt quirked an eyebrow when he glanced down at the kid. He wrinkled is nose as he took in the kid’s appearance. His hair was a silver nest of leaves and twigs, and he certainly smelled the part.

Marcus briefly met his eyes before staring at the tilework on the porch. He kicked his toe into the brick.

“Why are you bringing me a child? Certainly a field hospital could handle a small case.”

Upon hearing that Marcus frowned and ran behind Petra.

“Because he is belonging to Caspar. His is called-”

Just as Petra began to step aside to introduce the child, Linhardt interrupted.

“Marcus?!” Linhardt exclaimed, any trace of sleep gone from his voice. He stepped around to examine the kid, who seemed just as shocked as Petra by the outburst. “My, you have grown since we last met.”

“You are knowing him?” Petra wondered, eyebrows raised.

Linhardt’s smile faded just as quickly as it arrived. Realization dawning on him, he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Yes, I do know him. I would be a terrible friend if I didn’t know Caspar’s son.”

Marcus squinted at him but continued not to speak.

Clapping her hands together, Petra smiled.

“That is great news! Please help him, he is coughing up blood.”

Frowning, Linhardt nodded. “I see. I feared that was the case. I can help but please tell me, where is Caspar?”

A loud sigh escaped Petra.

“He was captured during the battle.”

Linhardt opened his mouth to speak but Marcus grumbled loudly.

“It’s Mr. von Liar’s fault! He’s weak!”

Tilting his head, Linhardt looked to Petra for clarification.

“He was protecting Ferdinand.”

“Ah,” Linhardt replied, processing the information. “Ferdinand von Liar. I should remember that for future use. Please, come in.”

At Linhardt’s behest, everyone entered into the manor and the door shut behind them.

Marcus’s mouth quickly fell open as he took in the sheer size of the entryway. He gaped at the massive art pieces that hung on the walls and lined the hallways.

“So big…” He mumbled.

Linhardt chuckled at his reaction. “I do suppose it is. Petra, please join me in the study while I prepare a healing balm for him. Marcus, why don’t you go take a bath and clean-up. My friend here can assist with anything.”

At that, the servant from before offered a warm smile.

However, Marcus tilted his head.

“A bath? What’s that?” he wondered, earning a few more raised eyebrows.

It was Linhardt who broke the sudden silence.

“A room where you wash away the dirt? Have you never had a bath before?”

Marcus’s jaw dropped again.

“There’s a room for that?! Papa and I would go to the rivers for that!” Marcus informed everyone loudly.

Linhardt and his servant exchanged looks of disbelief while Petra nodded.

“Rivers are very good for that,” Petra concurred.

“Regardless,” Linhardt spoke up. “My servant here will help you clean up and she will wash your clothes. Please freshen up while I prepare your medicine. It will heal you.”

Marcus frowned but nodded.

“Okay.”

With that, Marcus followed the servant up the stairs while gawking at more decorations.

\---

“Felix, I-” Dimitri began but the pressing of cold steel against his throat silenced him.

“Not. Another. Word,” Felix hissed, his icy stare focused on his prince. He held his blade just below Dimitri’s chin.

Dimitri granted his request, keeping quiet and observing him. His lone eye took in Felix’s ragged appearance underneath the pale moonlight.

Bandages wrapped around Felix’s head while a red axe-shaped welt bruised his cheek. A loose shirt and pants clung to Felix’s body. His ponytail was tied together in a sloppy mess, barely keeping his hair out of his face.

Both stood in silence in the training arena until the door creaked open to reveal Byleth. Their professor quirked an eyebrow at the interaction but strode forward.

“I believe Professor Manuela instructed bedrest for at least a week,” Byleth commented.

Felix scoffed at the notion, finally lowering his blade.

“And risk dulling my skills? I can’t afford that in this war,” Felix denied the thought. He turned to face the training dummy he spent the last hour hacking into. Straw poked out from the various wounds. Any passerby would consider such strikes lethal but Felix knew they didn’t hit as he intended.

Byleth frowned at the response.

“Practicing with a concussion makes you liable for worse. Follow doctor’s orders and you’ll have free reign of the arena when you’re better.”

Gritting his teeth at the thinly veiled command, Felix sheathed his blade.

“Then what shall I do? Idle hands are a waste and…”

Felix bit his tongue from continuing his admission.

_I need something to busy my thoughts._

Closing the distance between them, Byleth placed a hand on Felix’s shoulder. His student tried to recoil but Byleth kept an iron grip.

“I understand, truly. That’s why I have another task of… utmost importance.”

Taking a deep breath, Felix exhaled it and met his professor’s gaze.

“And what is that? If it’s cleaning the stables with Ashe I will politely decline.”

Byleth offered a tiny smile at the thought but it was Dimitri who interrupted there.

“No, that is Ashe’s responsibility until further notice,” Dimitri informed him. That answer got Felix to stare at him but Dimitri didn’t elaborate.

The sound of Byleth’s throat clearing drew the student’s attention back to their professor.

“I received word from Professor Manuela that Sylvain awoke earlier this evening. I wish for you to assist her with his recovery in the meantime,” Byleth explained. “He seems to be lacking movement in his arm for now but I’ve been assured he’ll make a full recovery with more magic and bedrest.”

Felix’s rigid posture relaxed, his shoulders slumping as he processed those words. His expression softened and lips parted.

“He’s awake?” Felix asked, his voice softer than he intended.

“Yes, you’re free to go see him,” Byleth nodded.

Not caring that he got permission from Byleth, Felix began marching towards the exit. When he reached the wooden door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder at Dimitri.

“I don’t care to hear your empty apologies, Boar. I wish to see you speak through your actions.”

With that, a loud crack of thunder boomed overhead and Felix slammed the door behind him. As he drew closer to the infirmary, the first drops of rain splattered against the stone walkway and his head. Felix made it to the entrance before the sprinklung grew into a powerful downpour.

Footsteps echoed off the ancient walls. Felix quickly ascended to the second floor, passing a few other soldiers and clergymen. Seteth and a few others he recognized were speaking inside Rhea’s former chambers when he walked by. No one paid him any heed until he arrived at his destination.

“Please, I beseech you, Manuela!” Professor Hanneman spoke to his coworker. His hands were interlaced as he begged.

“For the last time, Hanneman, I have no more to spare. If you want more medicine you’ll have to bring me the ingredients,” Manuela sighed, pulling out a flask from a satchel on her hip. “I will gladly create some more but after the most recent battle we have no more reserves I can borrow from. And even if I could, well, you’re aware of my predicament.”

Professor Hanneman sighed loudly at that.

“You’re right, my apologies. You’ve already done more than enough. I’ll redouble my efforts with the Ashen Wolves. Perhaps they might have some clue as to where Linhardt found-” Hanneman continued until he saw Manuela take a swig from her flask. “Really, Manuela? While you’re on duty? You’ve already made one irresponsible decision, don’t give the army more reason to scrutinize you further!”

Manuela glared at him, causing Hanneman to take a step back.

“Don’t lecture me on irresponsible decisions, Hanneman. As far as I’m concerned, that is on your head. Besides, all the patients have been treated. A quick heal here, some medicine there. I can handle that.”

“On my head? What does-”

Before the professors could bicker any further, Felix took loud steps to draw their attention.

“Oh, Felix, I’m glad to see you’re up and moving,” Manuela gave him a bright smile. She quickly hid the flask behind her back. Despite the bright smile, Felix could spot a fake smile from a mile away. “Though I do seem to recall mentioning something about mandatory bedrest this morning.”

“Good evening,” Felix ignored the insinuation. “I was instructed to assist with Sylvain’s recovery by the professor.”

Furrowing her brow, Manuela cocked her head slightly.

“Really? Well, he’s lying on one of the beds in the back chatting up one of the poor nuns,” Manuela sighed along with Felix. “Be a dear and bring him some water. There’s a pitcher on the counter just as you enter. I’ll let the others know he’ll be in your care from now on.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Felix remained in place.

“That’s it?”

“He’s been treated and patched up. He’ll need some more healing sessions with Mercedes but otherwise will be back at full strength after some extended bedrest.”

A silence fell over the trio until Sylvain’s faint voice could be heard.

“Has anyone told you the goddess blessed you with such beautiful eyes? Like she plucked two stars out of the night sky and-”

At that, Felix entered the room and made a beeline for Sylvain’s bed. He found his childhood friend making doe-eyes at a poor young woman. She held out a cup of water and Sylvain already had his one good hand brushing over her fingers.

“Sylvain,” Felix called out, startling his friend out of his stupor. The sudden movement caused the cup to fly from the nurse’s hand and onto Sylvain’s crotch.

“Felix!” Sylvain gasped as icy water shocked his system.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry!” The poor girl apologized.

“Don’t be, he brought it on himself,” Felix rolled his eyes. Turning to the nurse he continued, “I’ll be taking over his care per Professor Manuela’s instructions from now on.”

“I-I see. Let me at least get a towel for him.”

Shaking his head, Felix gestured to the door.

“No need, you’re free. Have a good evening.”

When the nurse turned to face Felix, he saw a dark blush.

“Th-thank you!”

With that the nurse ran off and Felix returned to glaring at his childhood friend. Sylvain tried to muster his best annoyed expression but it just came across as dopey smile.

“Can’t even let me flirt when I’m stuck in bed? You wound me, Felix,” Sylvain teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“How’s your face feeling?”

Sylvain turned towards Felix, raising his eyebrows.

“My face? The goddess left my best feature untouched.”

Pressing his lips together, Felix nodded briefly. He walked over to the bed.

“I see.”

Felix pulled a hand back and slapped Sylvain with a loud smack.

“Ow! What’s that for, Felix?!”

The strike echoed across the room, causing Manuela to glance in briefly. When she saw who got slapped she simply shrugged and went back to chatting with Hanneman.

Glaring up at Felix, Sylvain narrowed his eyes and raised his voice. His hand rested on his now stinging cheek but his anger vanished as quickly as one of his trysts. Felix bore his trademark frown but Sylvain recognized a façade when he saw one.

The way Felix’s lips trembled, how his body shuddered, and the way his eyes weren’t iced over with anger betrayed his true emotions. He was hurting in a way Sylvain hadn’t seen in quite a long time.

“You irresponsible fool! Protecting me like that. You’re so weak yet you always… always…”

Felix’s frustration got the better of him and he clenched his fists at his side. His trembling grew worse but he remained standing.

“Look, it doesn't matter, as long as you're safe. You can go on living, while I-”

“Don’t you dare say that! You're not going to die. I won't let you,” Felix declared, baring his grit teeth. “Or did you already forget that promise you made so long ago? Is that another vow you intend to break?”

At the mention of his childhood promise, Sylvain straightened his posture. He lowered his hand from his cheek and dropped his mask. A frown now found its way onto his normally smiling face.

“Of course I remember that promise, about sticking together until we die together. How could I forget? I intended to fulfill that in Gronder. I thought Caspar killed you…”

Felix softened his expression upon seeing Sylvain get serious.

“Well, he didn’t. And I’m… relived you didn’t die on me either,” Felix admitted, averting his gaze. He cross his arms over his chest as he continued. “I am grateful for your intervention. You've been doing this ever since we were children. Constantly fooling around, but then showing up and helping when we really need you.”

Sylvain chuckled at the admission. He reached out and placed a hand on Felix’s bicep, getting his friend’s attention.

“Well, I'm really not trying to get myself killed before you. You know that, right?”

“I know... I know. But I'm tired of these close calls. You have to stop fooling around. Take your training more seriously,” Felix sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He allowed Sylvain to scoot closer to him. “The first thing I heard when I woke up was my father’s passing, and that was immediately followed-up with the news of your near death experience. The thought of losing both of you in the same day. It…”

Upon hearing of Duke Fraldarius’ death Sylvain went wide-eyed.

“Your dad died?!”

Felix gave his friend the stink eye but nodded.

“That is what I just said, yes.”

Felix went wide-eyed when he felt Sylvain’s hand wrap around his own, and gave a squeeze. It was brief but shook the swordsman to his core.

In a flash, Felix found himself ten years younger. He was standing alongside a fresh grave where bits of Glenn’s armor were interred. They were only remains of his older brother. Shock petrified him in place as rain soaked the ground around him. Words from his father and other nobles went in one ear and out the other. The only thing that moved him from his place was the gentle squeeze of a warm hand. He could recall with almost perfect clarity that mournful look of his childhood friend.

And as Felix turned to face Sylvain, he found that same look once more etched upon his face.

“Wanna go spar?”

It took a few moments for those words to register in Felix’s brain. As soon as he processed them he gave his friend his best dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me? You’re bedridden, you half-wit. That wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

“And you’re supposed to be the same yet here we are,” Sylvain replied with serious expression yet a twinkle in his eye. “I think there’s a free bed next to me.”

That retort earned a dull stare from Felix.

“You really are the biggest fool in all of Fodlan,” Felix sighed, though a tiny smile found its way onto his face.

Upon seeing his friend crack, Sylvain laughed and gave him a genuine smile.

“And what does that make you? You’re the one always seeking me out.”

Felix’s face tinged pink at the insinuation.

“A mad man, perhaps.”

Sylvain snorted at that.

“Please, you’re clearly smitten by my charm,” Sylvain winked at his friend, earning a punch to his good shoulder. “Ow, I’m still healing!”

Squinting at his friend, Felix’s face returned to its normal disdainful demeanor.

“Then refrain from making more idiotic statements. Otherwise your stay here will be extended.”

Sylvain tried to rub his shoulder with his offhand but winced from the movement.

“Ouch. You weren’t so picky about it a few months back,” Sylvain reminded his friend, causing Felix to choke on air. “At least you seemed enthusiastic about it at the time.”

“That was a means to an end, for both of us,” Felix spoke, turning to face Sylvain. The blush reaching the tip of his ears did not help his case. “I held up my end of the bargain and have left you to your philandering ways.”

“I wonder if Hanne-“

Felix slapped a hand over Sylvain’s mouth.

“Quiet, he’s just outside talking with Professor Manuela. Neither of us want to explain _that_ ,” Felix glared at his friend.

Sylvain nodded in understanding before he got a mischievous look in his eyes.

Before Felix could recognize it he felt a wet warm tongue against the palm of his hand. He immediately recoiled back in disgust.

Sylvain licked his lips with a devilish smile.

“True,” Sylvain agreed with Felix’s comment. “And we got a long week here. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Not like that,” Felix shook his head before a thought came to his head. He glanced around the room for something before his eyes spotted it.

Sylvain watched as Felix walked over to a nearby bed and grabbed a towel. Content with how Felix seemed to be back to some form of normalcy after the mention of his father’s death, Sylvain did what he did best.

“I mean, I am down my good hand if you know what I mean. I could always use some help-”

A well-aimed towel hit Sylvain’s face and put an end to that discussion.

\---

“I see,” Linhardt hummed while he thumbed through some documents on a shelf, his back turned to Petra. “So Caspar got captured, the army is regrouping, and Ferdinand is… where exactly?”

“We went to hunt two birds with one rock,” Petra replied. She stood next to one of the large bay windows that lit the study. “He is speaking with Caspar’s family.”

Upon hearing that information Linhardt paused. He took a deep breath.

“I see,” Linhardt sighed. He pulled out a book from the shelf, opened it, and scanned the table of contents. The carpet crunched under his footsteps as he wandered back to a chair next to a desk. Scattered papers covered the entirety of the desk but that didn’t stop Linhardt from dropping the book onto the stack. “Unfortunately I don’t have the ingredients on hand to make a more effective potion but some basic healing magic should suffice until I can scavenge the necessary materials.”

Petra initially frowned, but soon cheered up.

“That is good!”

Shrugging his shoulders, Linhardt shook his head back and forth.

“For now, yes, but he will require supervision until then. Tell me, Petra, what do you know of Caspar’s family?”

Petra tilted her head at the question, her eyes staring up at the ceiling as she recalled her conversations with Caspar.

“He is the son of the leader of the army, yes?”

“Correct,” Linhardt nodded. “The second son to be precise. I’m not quite familiar with Brigid’s traditions, but here the firstborn son or oldest crest bearer typically inherits their family’s titles and wealth.”

Leaning against the wall, Petra scratched her head.

“Why is that?”

With a wave of the hand, Linhardt explained, “It’s tradition, but one that our Emperor seeks to fix. That is one of the many purposes of this war but that is beside the point. For Caspar, he never expected nor intended to be his family’s heir. No one in his family is a crest bearer either.”

“Then what is the point you are making? I am becoming lost.”

“To keep it succinct, Caspar’s brother was supposed to inherit everything until the Emperor changed our policies. Since Caspar has worked every day of his life and is a capable warrior, unlike his brother, he was named the heir to the family shortly after the war began. Let’s just say his older brother didn’t like that.”

“So the more worthy person will get inheritance? Did I speak that right?”

Linhardt nodded, offering her a smile.

“Correct on both accounts,” he confirmed, earning a proud grin from Petra. “Something else that’s important is marriage. The heirs to important families marry each other to increase their family’s power.”

Petra went wide-eyed at that, pushing herself off the wall.

“Oh, this I am understanding! In Brigid, powerful unions are encouraged. They strengthen the… what is the word? Community? I think that is a similar meaning.”

“It’s a similar concept yes, but here there’s a lot of complicated factors that I won’t bore you with. But suffice to say, Caspar having a son complicates the matter. No one wants to marry into a family with a bastard child.”

Petra furrowed her brow at that.

“Bastard? What is that? I’m unfamiliar with this word.”

“A child born without two married parents. They are often seen as a problem in the nobility, but that’s a different conversation entirely. Marcus’ existence complicates a lot of things and I fear telling Caspar’s family that he’s here will make things… bothersome.”

“I don’t think I am completely understanding, but are you saying Caspar’s family does not want Marcus?”

Leaning back against the chair, Linhardt slowly nodded. “Something like that.”

A quiet knock on the heavy wooden doors to the study drew Petra’s and Linhardt’s attention.

“Come in,” Linhardt beckoned, the doors opening shortly after.

An older servant gestured for two new people to enter the room before following in behind them.

“May I present Lord von Aegir and Lord von Bergliez?”

Ferdinand walked with in with a giant grin and arms extended. He still wore his armor from his earlier travels, and despite the obvious battle damage, still had his usual noble air.

“Linhardt, it’s been ages!” Ferdinand declared, stepping closer to embrace his friend.

Linhardt immediately straightened up but still gave Ferdinand a few pats on the back before extricating himself from Ferdinand’s grip.

“Indeed, and I see you brought Caspar’s brother,” Linhardt gestured towards Lord von Bergliez.

Caspar’s brother wrinkled his nose at the greeting but stepped forward, carrying an intricately decorated stone bowl with a lid. He wore a dark shirt not unlike the officer academy uniform that Caspar had a few years prior. Gold buttons adorned the vest over a white undershirt. Unlike Caspar, his brother filled out the shirt and his belly pressed against the front prominently. His blue hair was a short military cut that contrasted against his round face.

“Ah Linhardt, still quite the joker,” Caspar’s brother greeted. “I have a name you know.”

“Yes and I don’t quite care to recall it,” Linhardt replied with a shrug, ignoring the flash of displeasure on Lord von Bergliez’s face. Pointing to stone bowl, Linhardt asked, “And what is it you brought?”

“This? Why it’s a hearty to stew to help my dear little nephew get better,” Caspar’s brother answered with a half-smile and chuckle. “Say, where is the boy?”

Caspar’s brother walked over to a table and set the bowl down.

“Resting in one of our many guest rooms.”

At Linhardt’s response, Petra furrowed his brow.

“But wasn’t he getting a bath so we could heal him?” She wondered, earning a sigh from Linhardt.

“Yes, but we were going to let him rest first, remember?”

Ferdinand scratched his head at the awkward conversation, but Caspar’s brother continued.

“I see, well hopefully he wakes up soon! It has been quite a while since my brother brought him home,” Lord von Bergliez chuckled. He then turned his attention on Petra. “And I didn’t know we had a Brigidese here. You must be the famous princess, correct? What a pleasure!”

Despite Caspar’s brother’s words, Petra frowned at his condescending tone.

“Hello,” she greeted curtly.

Before another awkward silence fell over the room, the sound of muffled shouting and heavy footsteps growing louder caused everyone to look at the door. The wooden door swung open to reveal Marcus running in with a towel wrapped round his waist and a servant chasing him.

“Please get back here, milord! You’re indecent!” The servant shouted, chasing in. She paused once she realized she was in the presence of other nobles. “Pardon me, he fled in the middle of cleaning up!”

Marcus ran around to Petra, hiding behind her leg. “She started cutting my hair!”

The servant hung her head.

“It was too knotted to properly wash, milord. I meant no harm.”

Linhardt turned to Marcus, taking in his new appearance. Part of the hair on his left side was trimmed just above his ear but the rest was still a mop of silver with twigs peeking out here and there.

“That’s fine, thank you for trying. You may leave for now. Marcus-” 

A loud gasp from Marcus interrupted Linhardt, the boy’s eyes widening upon seeing his uncle.

“Papa!” Marcus declared, running over to wrap himself around his uncle’s leg while the servant left the room.

As soon as Marcus drew close, a spark of light blue electricity jumped from him to his uncle, causing the man to jolt upright.

“Ouch! H-Hello, Marcus! It’s been ages,” Caspar’s brother spoke, his voice slightly higher as he recoiled from the static. He hesitantly placed a hand on the boy’s damp hair.

When Marcus heard his uncle’s voice, he quickly pulled away and scampered back. He pressed his lips together, trembling.

“You’re not papa!” Marcus stated the obvious, tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Of course not, I’m your uncle,” Caspar’s brother corrected, unimpressed by the observation. “We haven’t seen each other in years. My, how big you’ve grown. How old are you now?”

With a quiet sniffle, Marcus held up five fingers.

“He’s five?!” Ferdinand spoke as his jaw dropped, drawing some attention to himself. “I mean, he’s tall for one his age.”

“Yes, he’s five. I can personally vouch for his age as I was there when he was born,” Linhardt confirmed. His eyes were focused on Marcus, a bit puzzled by the blue spark from few a moments prior. It wasn’t until he felt all eyes on the room on him when he realized what he said.

“Care to clarify that, Linhardt?” Ferdinand encouraged.

“Ah, I can see how that statement might be misconstrued. I assisted with delivering Marcus into this world,” Linhardt explained. He scratched the back of his head, though he kept his gaze on Marcus. Ignoring his own rising questions, Linhardt turned his attention to the others. “I guess you could say I was a midwife.”

“I didn’t know you did that,” Ferdinand spoke, scratching his chin. “Especially with your frail constitution around blood.”

The proud noble missed the dull look Linhardt sent his way.

“I don’t have a frail constitution, Ferdinand, I simply dislike the sight. But one tends to overcome their displeasures for the sake of their friends.”

“Point well made, my apologies, Linhardt!”

Ferdinand offered an apologetic expression but Caspar’s brother cleared his throat.

“Linhardt, if I may,” Lord von Bergliez began. He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “My brother never mentioned who he… who Marcus’s mother is. Do you know her?”

“I don’t have a momma,” Marcus informed his uncle with bright smile.

“I see…”

“He’s not wrong. But Caspar never mentioned it because, well, let’s just say he’s a single father not by choice,” Linhardt informed everyone.

Petra placed a hand over her mouth, barely muffling her gasp.

Ferdinand averted his eyes, staring out through the window.

Caspar’s brother chewed on his bottom lip, his brow still furrowed.

“How unfortunate,” Lord von Bergliez spoke, though his voice weren’t tinged with sadness. “Thank you for the clarification, Linhardt. Well, I can assure you my dear nephew will be looked after until my brother’s much anticipated return. In fact, Marcus, the kind servants of our house made a bowl of stew for you. It’s right over there.”

Marcus’s uncle pointed to the stone bowl he set aside earlier.

“Thank you!” Marcus gave him a toothy grin, trying to run over before Linhardt placed a hand on his head. The boy remained trapped in place.

“One moment, Marcus. Please wait until we finish healing,” Linhardt requested.

“Awwww… Okay.”

Marcus crossed his arms over his bare chest and pouted.

Linhardt walked to the stew and removed the lid, almost missing Lord von Bergliez’s hand flying out.

“Linhardt, what are you doing? That’s for Marcus!” Caspar’s brother quickly spoke. “I-I mean, if you wish to have some I can request our chefs cook up a larger helping.”

Ferdinand and Petra both gave quizzical looks as Linhardt chuckled.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m simply inspecting the food to ensure there aren’t any ingredients that would impede Marcus’s recovery. He’s a sick child after all,” Linhardt replied, setting the stone lid down on the wooden table. He wrinkled his nose upon seeing a black film across the top of the stew.

“I’m sick?” Marcus wondered, pointing at himself.

Linhardt quirked at eyebrow at him but nodded. “Yes, quite actually. Nothing we can’t fix with a bit of magic and medicine.”

Reaching for a spoon set aside near the dish, Linhardt stirred the stew and found the broth, meat, and veggies under the black substance. He grabbed a spoonful and brought it up to his nose.

Lord von Bergliez’s face fell and he pulled his hand back towards his chest, his fingers curling as a chill ran down his spine.

“You do magic?!” Marcus exclaimed, his gaze now fixed on Linhardt.

“Of course, it’s how I help everyone.”

Sniffing the spoon, Linhardt recoiled from it.

“I know magic!”

Glancing at Marcus, Linhardt’s face remained scrunched from the unpleasant smell.

“Really? Let’s put a pin in that conversation for now,” Linhardt said, blowing some air out of his nostrils to clear them of the offending odor. “Now, Lord von Bergliez, can you tell me why there’s a layer of Vestran Malice in this dish?”

Linhardt stared pointedly at Lord von Bergliez, who remained silent for a few seconds. At first fear flashed across his face before it returned to its normal, haughty expression.

Ferdinand and Petra exchanged puzzled looks.

“What are you talking about, Linhardt? I don’t quite like your tone,” Caspar’s brother narrowed his eyes.

While the adults stared at each other, Marcus moved over to a chair next to the stew.

“And I don’t like it when there’s poison in food meant for my patient,” Linhardt gave him another dull stare. “I’ve worked with Count Vestra enough to know his poison of choice, as it’s quite readily available in this part of the Empire. What I’m uncertain of is why it’s in this dish.”

Caspar’s brother crossed his arms and puffed his chest a bit.

“Are you saying that someone is trying to poison my dear nephew? That’s a bold statement, Linhardt von Hevring.”

With a shrug, Linhardt brought the spoon to his lips.

“Perhaps I should taste this just to be certain. I wouldn’t want to impugn your honor.”

“Ah that isn’t nece-”

Before Caspar’s brother could continue, Linhardt put the spoonful in his mouth.

Linhardt went wide-eyed and turned away from everyone, spitting the stew all over the carpet.

“Good goddess!” Linhardt exclaimed, coughing up a lung.

Marcus watched with amused interest as the bowl now sat in his lap.

“Linhardt, are you okay?” Ferdinand asked, running over to his side. He pulled out a water skin from his side and offered it to his former classmate.

Linhardt graciously took the container and drank some water. It sloshed around his mouth for a few moments until he spat it out over the floor.

Staring at Lord von Bergliez with look of disbelief, Linhardt all but yelled at him.

“How inept are you?!”

Lord von Bergliez quirked an eyebrow.

“E-excuse me?”

“Have you ever poisoned anything in your life? You’re trying to assassinate a child, not a wyvern! How much did you use?”

Pressing his lips together, Lord von Bergliez glanced at the other two nobles in the room.

“I-I don’t know what you’re insinuating but if you’re suggesting that one of my own servants tried to poison my _dear_ nephew I will have words with them. Words, I say!”

At that, Caspar’s brother turned to leave, but Petra quickly caught his wrist and spun him around, holding his arm at an awkward angle.

“And where are you going?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Unhand me, you Brigidese swine! I will have you- ow, ow, ow!”

Petra pulled the noble’s wrist back further until he quieted.

“I’ll ask again, how much poison did you use?” Linhardt inquired, walking towards him. He narrowed his eyes as he dropped the spoon on the floor with a muffled thud.

“Fine, fine, I used a whole vial!” He admitted.

Ferdinand’s jaw dropped from horror while Linhardt remained unsurprised.

“A whole vial? Two maybe three drops would’ve been more than enough,” Linhardt critiqued, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I expected you to pull something, but nothing this amateur. There are two brain cells between you and Caspar and somehow he got both of them.”

At that, a loud burp drew everyone’s attention back to Marcus. He was kicking his legs back and forth over the edge of the chair with a wide grin on his face, a blackened mess around his mouth and lips.

“Thank you for the tasty food, uncle!” Marcus smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing anything with Marcus is a treat and I hope you all feel the same since he pretty much got the spotlight this chapter. Don't worry, next chapter Caspar and Ashe will make a reappearance! 
> 
> Also I definitely borrowed some dialogue from Sylvain's and Felix's support conversation for this chapter since that's also incredibly amusing to write their dynamic.
> 
> As always, all feedback is loved and I greatly appreciate everyone taking the time to read this!
> 
> Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger!


	6. Friend or Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus continues to be Marcus while Caspar awakens where he ran away from

Silence fell over the room, all the adults standing with their jaws agape.

“D-did you just eat that?” Marcus’s uncle asked, disbelief dripping from his voice.

Linhardt power walked over to see that most of the stew was mercifully still there but the blackened mess on Marcus’s mouth and cheeks little room for doubt.

“Yup, tastes like papa’s cooking!”

Pressing his lips together, Linhardt rubbed his temples.

“Sothis help this child,” Linhardt sighed. Grabbing Marcus by the shoulders, he sat the boy straight up. “Time is of the essence, stay still.”

Marcus tilted his head but stayed in place.

Channeling some of the divine magic he learned at the academy, Linhardt’s hands glowed green. He placed one on Marcus’s head and the other on his stomach. While the magic spread onto Marcus’s body, Linhardt shook his head.

“Whoa, so cool!”

“Lucky is more like it. You’re certainly your father’s son,” Linhardt complained, only succeeding in widening the dirty smile on Marcus’s face. Green energy shimmered around Marcus momentarily before flashing away in a bright light.

“Thank you!”

When Linhardt withdrew his hands, he took the stone bowl with him. However, the expression on the young boy’s face soured.

“Is everything okay?”

“My tummy doesn’t feel so good…”

Marcus grabbed his belly and his cheeks puffed out. Linhardt jumped back in time to see the boy let out a loud belch. Unlike a normal one, this was accompanied by a dark purple cloud.

Linhardt frowned but signed.

“That is one way to expel a poison I suppose. You should feel better soon.”

The only response he received was a low growl from Marcus who curled into himself on the chair.

While the others were distracted by the sudden poisoning, Caspar’s brother reached for a dagger on the side of his belt and tried to quietly step forward. As he went to unsheathe the blade, he failed to hear the carpet crunch behind him.

“Let me end your suffering, my dear nephew,” Lord von Bergliez announced, drawing his weapon. He got exactly two steps before a hand found its way on the back of his neck.

With some swift maneuvering, Petra tripped him and pinned the noble to the ground. She trapped the man’s arms beneath him.

“There will be no killing here today,” Petra informed him, only to have the man scream back at her.

“Help, I’ve been injured!”

Petra jumped off the noble and kicked him over onto his back. She flinched upon seeing a bloody wound. During her strike she managed to get Caspar’s brother to land on his own blade. The dagger plunged several inches into the noble’s side.

“I wouldn’t say you deserved it, but you’re bleeding all over my carpet,” Linhardt complained. He crossed his arms while he evaluated the state of it. “Looks like father is going to need to get a new one.”

His uncle’s whining snapped Marcus from his stupor and he glanced down to see the man with a wound.

“I can help!” Marcus declared, hopping down from the chair with the towel still around his waist.

Linhardt quirked an eyebrow at that.

“Help? Marcus, first we got to-”

While Linhardt tried to dissuade Marcus with words, the boy was already at his uncle’s side. He placed both his hands on Lord von Bergliez and focused. His tongue peeked out between his lips while a familiar crackle of light blue magic enveloped him. Marcus pressed his hands on his uncle and the magic surged forth.

“Or not…” Linhardt’s voiced trailed off as he took in the peculiar sight. He observed the magical display, taking note of a peculiar mark on Marcus’s left shoulder that glowed the same color as his magic.

The magic glowed light blue, then silver, and back to light blue.

“What is happening? The pain is gone… oh wait, ow, ow, ow!” Lord von Bergliez began to complain once more.

When his uncle started complaining, Marcus quickly backed off. He watched with wide-eyed amazement as his uncle recoiled from his magic.

“Wow, you’re just like papa!” Marcus noted, earning a few puzzled stares from the others.

“Whatever do you mean?” Linhardt wondered, kneeling down next to Lord von Bergliez.

“It’s easy to heal papa. And now uncle Bercheez!”

“Curious,” Linhardt chuckled, while he glanced at the wound Marcus healed. He could barely make out anything through the fabric but it did appear blood wasn’t staining anything further. “And while I commend your talent for healing magic, next time be sure to wait until we remove the dagger.”

Pointing to the dagger still in Caspar’s brother, Marcus pressed his lips together.

“Oh… Is that bad?”

“Eh, not really in this case. But remember it for the future, okay?” Linhardt requested.

“Okay…” Marcus nodded, glancing down at his uncle. Despite Linhardt’s words, Marcus spoke with a disappointed tone. The moment was brief as Marcus clutched his stomach. “Blech!”

Marcus grasped his belly and hunched over, heaving. He threw up over his uncle’s pants. A mixture of blackened liquid and blood covered the once-clean fabric.

Cringing at the display, Linhardt turned away. “I almost forgot about your condition. Well, conditions. Maria! Finish cleaning up Marcus, and bring a bucket. He needs to get the rest of that stew out of him!”

“Yes, milord!” A faint voice called out from outside the room.

Averting his gaze from the mess, Linhardt met Marcus’s eyes.

“And Marcus? If you let Maria finish trimming your hair, not only will I help you get better, but I’ll tell you stories about your papa. How does that sound?”

Marcus nodded despite the queasy look on his face.

“Okay. Can you tell me about magic too?” He asked. “Papa said he didn’t know how to do it…”

“Of course, now scamper. We adults have a lot to speak about.”

On cue, the door opened to reveal a servant holding a bucket. She gasped upon seeing the mess.

“I-is everything alright, milord?” She inquired, clutching the bucket to her chest. Marcus walked towards her, no longer energetic like before. He wrapped his arms around his stomach.

“Yes, we’ll just need to thoroughly clean this room before father returns,” Linhardt explained, standing up. “But first, things are going to get a little bit worse before they get better. Please tell the others to ignore any loud or dramatic sounds they may hear soon. We’re about to recount yesterday’s battle in vivid detail. So pardon the enthusiasm.”

“Of course…”

Maria placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder and escorted the boy out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Now in private once more, Linhardt walked over to a desk and pulled out a large leather satchel.

“What’s going on, Linhardt?” Ferdinand wondered, baffled by the turn of events.

Shaking his head, Linhardt frowned.

“My least favorite thing: work,” Linhardt groaned, stepping back over to Lord von Bergliez and Petra. “Before we fix little Marcus’s mistake, let’s discuss what’s going to happen after this.”

“Mistake? What do you mean?” Caspar’s brother spoke, her voice trembling. He remained on his back while Linhardt loomed over him with an uncaring expression.

“I know learning isn’t your forte but do try to pay attention for once in your life as you’re about to learn a harsh lesson first hand.”

Lord von Bergliez narrowed his eyes and went to speak, but Linhardt placed a hand over his mouth.

“Mmf!”

“Listen. Magical healing accelerates the body’s natural healing process. What would take months only takes seconds. Wounds close and bones knit back together. However, Marcus did that with the dagger still in you. Do you see where this is going?”

After a few moments Lord von Bergliez’s eyes widened as horror dawned upon him.

“Mo…”

“Yes,” Linhardt gave a half smile. To demonstrate his point, he gently tugged on the dagger.

Lord von Bergliez screamed against Linhardt’s hand as he felt his insides move with the dagger.

“Oh that is most unfortunate,” Petra observed.

“Indeed. Marcus fused the dagger to his body. I’d say its poetic justice, but as the entire von Bergliez family demonstrated today it was entirely on accident.”

Pulling his hands back, Marcus’s uncle calmed down.

“C-can you remove it?” Lord von Bergliez pleaded.

“Easily, but it won’t be pleasant. Which is a fitting punishment for attempted murder. However, let’s settle a few things before I help you.”

Glaring at Linhardt, Lord von Bergliez growled.

“What do you mean?! Isn’t this punishment enough?”

Linhardt rested his hand on the pommel of the dagger, quickly sapping Caspar’s brother of his anger.

“No, but here is how this ends. Marcus will stay here until he recovers, and you will make no mention of his presence in Fort Merceus. Any servants you informed about his return will be sworn to silence. And, most importantly, you will refrain from mentioning any of this to your father,” Linhardt listed, pressing his hand on the dagger. “And if you dare try to bring any further harm upon Marcus, I will personally tell the Emperor of what was attempted here. I’m sure Count Vestra will love to hear how you attempted to murder Caspar’s son and potentially turn him against the Empire.” 

Before Caspar’s brother could argue, Ferdinand stepped forward.

“And both Petra and I will vouch for Linhardt. To think one of such noble lineage would stoop to such dishonorable lows. What did you hope to achieve by killing an innocent child?” Ferdinand wondered.

“Fine, I’ll acquiesce to your demands. Just don’t tell anyone!” Caspar’s brother readily agreed.

When it became apparent Lord von Bergliez had no intention to respond further, Linhardt supplied the answer to Ferdinand’s question.

“Knowing him, probably trying to curry favor with his father.”

Scratching the back of his head, Ferdinand frowned.

“But why would such an atrocious deed accomplish that?”

As Linhardt began to unfurl the leather satchel he retrieved from the desk, he gave Ferdinand a dull stare.

“I’m sure someone as intelligent as yourself can put it together, Ferdinand. Caspar went home when the war began, and then he fled under a pseudonym with his son. I’ll give you a hint, he was declared heir to House Bergliez when he first returned.”

Ferdinand watched Linhardt pull a scalpel from the bag and slowly undid the buttons on Lord von Bergliez’s best.

After a few moments, an idea formed in his head.

“You don’t mean to say, his father doesn’t want Marcus if Caspar is to be the heir?”

“Ah good, you’re sharper than our wounded compatriot here. Yes, he told Caspar to get rid of Marcus, to which Caspar took exception and left. And Caspar’s genius of a brother thought that removing Marcus from the equation might just get him enough clout with his father that perhaps he’d be named the heir instead of Caspar or one of his other more deserving siblings.”

Ferdinand watched as Caspar’s brother stared at a very interesting spot on the wall across the room, away from the others present.

“Despicable,” Ferdinand spat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Quite. Now be useful and bring me that leather block in that open drawer, Lord von Bergliez is going to need it. I’m afraid anesthetic is quite valuable and I can’t seem to remember where ours is,” Linhardt smiled, briefly glancing at the bottle of the anesthetic on a nearby shelf.

Ferdinand frowned, but nodded.

“Of course.”

Caspar’s brother could only gulp as he felt the thick block shoved into his mouth. A high pitched whimper escaped him when he felt the cold steel of the scalpel press against his portly belly.

\---

The distinct clacking of boots on cobblestone echoed through the walls of the monastery dungeon, reaching a cell at the end. This rhythmic noise roused Caspar from his slumber yet his eyes never opened. A dull pain throbbed in his head while consciousness occasionally stirred in him. He lost track of how many times he attempted to awaken, only to be lulled back under by a gentle warmth.

Eventually the warmth didn’t return, and Caspar found himself in limbo. Unable to grasp much beyond the stiffness in his limbs. Any attempt to move was met with resistance. Either his body screamed at him or a cold clang kept him in place.

With a great effort he cracked his eyes, only seeing colors at first. A flickering orange and yellow danced across his vision until he regained his focus. A sconce with a torch was lit on a nearby wall. At first Caspar thought he was seeing double but soon recognized there was a black bar in the flame, splitting it. He blinked his eyes a few times in a vain attempt to speed up his recovery.

As he moved, he heard some murmuring and rapid footsteps.

“What the…” Caspar mumbled, his head hanging forward. He tried to lean down but the cold clang from before held him. Now he heard the sound of a metal chain pulling taut.

That succeeded in stirring him.

Adrenaline shot through his system and his body came to life. Though the panic brought him back from the comfortable darkness of his mind, it now left him vulnerable to the world around him.

Glancing around, Caspar took in his surroundings. Iron bars, stone walls, and a tiny room only meant one thing.

“Ah damn it,” Caspar cursed, trying to clench his fist. He flinched from the movement. Looking down, he went wide eyed from horror.

Caspar sat with one bandaged arm in a sling and his other partially wrapped and chained to a wall. Similar manacles were around his bare feet. His chest was bandaged and bare, the wrappings appearing fresh. He realized the only pieces of clothing on him were his shredded trousers and a threadbare blanket slung over his shoulders.

Caspar’s head fell back against the stone wall, his chin tilted upwards.

“Marcus,” Caspar whispered to himself as his thoughts began to coalesce into fear.

He wasn’t dead but prison wasn’t where he planned to be.

Heavy footsteps drew Caspar from his treacherous thoughts when they stopped in front of his cell.

“Ah good, you’re finally awake,” a cold voice greeted.

Caspar squinted through the darkness to see a towering silhouette. It took a moment for the shape to form. Messy blond hair, an eyepatch, and a stern gaze provided more than enough clues for Caspar.

“Hey, Dimitri,” Caspar returned the greeting with a tiny smile. Even that sent pains through his body.

“That’s ‘his Highness’ to you, Imperial scum,” one of the cell guards spoke through grit teeth.

Raising a hand, Dimitri silenced the soldier.

“Enough. I didn’t come here to trade barbs,” Dimitri stated.

“S-sorry, sir.”

Caspar’s mouth fell but nodded.

“I heard you got killed by some traitor,” Caspar chuckled. “But you’re too strong for death to keep ya.”

For a long, quiet moment, Dimitri studied Caspar. His one eye appraised the bruised soldier.

“And you tried to kill Felix and Sylvain, two of my dearest friends.”

Biting his bottom lip, Caspar took a moment to meet Dimitri’s gaze. Any mirth or joy he once felt from the emotional leader of the Blue Lions was absent.

“Tried? That mean’s Felix is alive. Good,” Caspar sighed, leaning back against the wall.

That response earned a quirked eyebrow from Dimitri.

“Good? You’re happy you failed in your mission?”

Shaking his head, Caspar replied.

“My mission? I wasn’t supposed to kill anyone. I was just trying to keep my friends alive. Felix found Ferdinand and one thing lead to another,” Caspar sighed, rolling his eyes. “I _tried_ to get Ferdinand out of there by dueling Felix but he had to be all “I’m Ferdinand von Aegir” and then Sylvain got there and-”

“Silence!”

That shout had the desired effect on Caspar, who quickly bolted his mouth shut.

“Are you trying to tell me you weren’t fighting my friends to the death?”

Dimitri crossed his arms, drumming his fingers along his bicep.

“Nope.”

The two engaged in a staring contest, both unflinching.

“I see,” Dimitri finally spoke. “Then, pray tell, what were you doing at Gronder? My intelligence suggests you weren’t in the Adrestian army yet we found you amidst the carnage.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Caspar took a deep breath.

“Passing through. But I found Ferdinand getting attacked so I saved him.”

“So you admit to fighting our comrades?”

“I mean, yeah?”

A displeased growl from Dimitri caused Caspar to press himself against the wall of his cell. Bloodlust he knew, but never from Dimitri. And it rolled off the would-be king in waves.

“I’ll keep this brief then. The only reason you’re alive is because the Professor suggested you might be willing to join our cause. I am skeptical but I respect his advice. We’ve fought together before, will you side with us once more?” Dimitri offered, earning stunned looks from the guards behind him.

Even Caspar went wide-eyed at that.

“The Professor- join you? What?”

Another growl escaped Dimitri.

“I won’t repeat myself, Caspar.”

A plethora of thoughts ran through Caspar’s mind. First, gratefulness for Byleth. That quickly gave way shame as he thought of his comrades, both Adrestian and Faerghus. The old thoughts of betraying his home, but also the shame of leaving what his heart desired behind. His throat tightened upon memories of silver hair and freckles. But all of that faded underneath the fear of his one responsibility: Marcus.

“I… I can’t,” Caspar replied with a frown, his eyes falling to his lap.

“I thought so,” Dimitri spoke, his tone the same as before. “Then you’re our guest until we ransom you. Perhaps you might fetch a few worthy warriors.”

A chill went down Caspar’s spine at the thought. More shame flooded his head, leaving him biting his tongue. However, hope soon bloomed in his chest. While he had no idea where Marcus might be, he was left with Ferdinand. Being sent back was at least a start to getting his son back.

However those thoughts crystalized into horrir when he realized where Ferdinand might take Marcus.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes, a better fate than planting your head on a spike. Had it been a few days prior, I would’ve done so without a second thought, a fitting end for an Imperial animal.”

Shuddering at the thought, Caspar gulped.

“Thank you for not doing that.”

“Don’t thank me, thank the Professor for humoring the thought. He shall be in periodically to see to your wounds. I’d prefer to send you back in ribbons but the Professor insists otherwise.”

Nodding at that, Caspar let the conversation end.

Dimitri turned to leave, flanked by some guards. He barely made it a step before one of the guards jumped.

“Argh, damn feline!” He shouted as something darted into the cell between the bars.

“What is it now?” Dimitri asked, his voice cold but curious.

“It’s this damn cat, your Highness. It keeps finding its way down here and hiding in the cell. It’s been hiding in there every day!”

Shaking his head, Dimitri gestured back to the entrance.

“Leave it be. Caspar won’t be receiving any other guests beyond myself or the Professor. In the meantime, continue to care for him as you have. I shall prepare the letters to get him sent back where he belongs with his tail tucked between his legs.”

“Yes, sir!”

The conversation died out as the soldiers left with their king, leaving Caspar in his cell alone. He turned his head to try and find his new cellmate.

After a few quiet moments, a cat came out from the shadows. His eyes glinted in the torchlight and the flames reflected in his simple collar. It slowly crept forward until his familiar fur pattern became clear. As it brushed its soft fur against Caspar’s bare feet, a wide grin split Caspar’s face.

“Kyphon!” Caspar shouted, causing the guards at the end of the cell to jump.

“Mrow!”

\---

“There, how do you feel?” Linhardt asked, cracking his back as he stood back up. He stretched his arms while he inspected Marcus.

“Good!” Marcus smiled, glancing at the slight green glow on his body. His hands quickly went up to his hair and started toying with the short strands.

“That should get us by until I can put together some medicine.”

Linhardt looked over his shoulder to see Petra and Ferdinand idly chatting by the bay window in his study. Orange light bled into the room from the setting sun, coloring the room in a brilliant amber.

“What do I look like?” Marcus wondered. His head darted around trying to find a shiny surface.

Rolling his eyes, Linhardt did a once over of the child.

Unlike before, he was now dressed in a loose fitting white shirt and pants. His hair was no longer a silvery nest of twigs and dirt, now short and styled. It was almost a faint yellow in the fading sunlight. Despite the numerous freckles dusting his cheeks, Marcus looked like a smaller copy of Caspar with his hair now in a faux hawk.

Linhardt stared at Marcus’s blue-green eyes with curiosity.

“Like your father at that age.”

“Yay!” Marcus cheered, throwing his hands in the air.

That drew the attention of the two adults, the pair walking over. Both smiled at the joyful kid.

“Is he well then?” Ferdinand inquired, kneeling down to Marcus’s level. He was rewarded with a swift glare and puffed up cheeks.

Nodding, Linhardt explained.

“Yes, he won’t be coughing up blood for a bit. And I’ll attend to him until he can receive proper treatment.”

“I see, that is wonderful news!”

Petra crouch forward with her hands on her knees.

“That is indeed the good news,” she agreed.

Marcus grinned widely at her, kicking his legs back and forth on the edge of the chair.

“Well,” Ferdinand cleared his throat, standing back up. “It is time for us to return to her Majesty’s side. We must prepare the defenses for the incoming invasion. Dimitri will surely press the attack after yesterday’s victory.”

That statement brought a frown to Petra’s face. “Yes, we must be going.”

Upon hearing that, Marcus’s face fell.

“Aw, but-but-but-!” Marcus began to complain, but Petra placed her hand on Marcus’s head.

“We must be preparing to get your father. You will be safe with Linhardt. He is smart and strong.”

Quirking an eyebrow at that, Linhardt shrugged.

“A bit lazy perhaps, but definitely a formidable opponent when he applies himself,” Ferdinand added, earning a dull stare from Linhardt.

“As much as I appreciate the observations, Marcus must be getting his rest. It’s crucial he get sleep for his recovery,” Linhardt informed everyone.

“I don’t wanna…” Marcus complained, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But you must, if you want to get strong like Caspar,” Petra explained.

Marcus’s shoulders slumped at that.

“O-okay. I wanna be strong like papa. And you! I wanna be a warrior princess!”

Linhardt gave Petra a puzzled expression but she ignored him, too busy grinning from ear to ear at Marcus.

“I will teach you how once you are better. Are we having a deal?”

“Yes!” Marcus smiled, clenching his hands into fists in front of his chest.

While Petra and Marcus finished their conversation, Ferdinand walked over to Linhardt and whispered.

“As for Caspar’s brother, I’ll keep an eye on him to ensure Marcus’s safety,” Ferdinand spoke.

“Appreciated, but don’t worry too much. He’s a coward and wouldn’t do anything to anger his father, especially botching an assassination in another noble’s house. I’d be more concerned with Edelgard’s war. I’ll keep the boy safe,” Linhardt responded, keeping an eye trained on Marcus.

“Marcus will be in good hands. I can’t imagine anyone else who Caspar would entrust his son to besides you.”

Glancing away for a moment, a twinge of guilt knotted Linhardt’s stomach.

“Indeed.”

Ferdinand looked over at Marcus and bit his lip, offering the boy a fond smile.

When Marcus noticed, the boy stuck his tongue out at him.

Chuckling at the gesture, Ferdinand commented.

“You’re right though. He’s practically the spitting image of his father now. Tell me, Linhardt, did you know his mother?”

That question drew Linhardt’s eyes back to Ferdinand.

“Come again?”

“Marcus’s mother. Did you know her well? Forgive my curiosity, but I didn’t get the chance to discuss who could woo such a dedicated warrior like Caspar with him before the battle.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Linhardt maintained his neutral façade.

“No I-” Linhardt began, his voice hitching briefly. Clearing his throat, he continued. “No I didn’t. I was only present for the birth. It was a bit sudden.”

Nodding in understanding, Ferdinand crossed his arms.

“I see. Well he certainly inherited his father’s zeal and energy. I wonder if he got anything form his mother. Perhaps those freckles? I didn’t see any on Caspar or his brother.”

Furrowing his brow, Linhardt let go of his guilt for a moment to ponder the question.

“Actually, you’re right. His father certainly didn’t have any either. Nor did anyone in the household from what I recall.”

“At least Marcus will have that reminder of her. To be frank, I didn’t think Caspar had it in him to… conceive a child out of wedlock. But we all make mistakes in our youth,” Ferdinand admitted, causing Linhardt to frown. “It’s a shame Marcus will never know his mother, but Caspar’s dedication to him is abundantly clear. The boy is truly loved.”

Linhardt pressed his lips together, stiffly nodding.

“That much is true.”

\---

“Finally, and most importantly, we must discuss the matter of Gronder and our actions going forward,” Seteth stated, facing the rest of the room with his hands folded behind his back. He scanned the war council, taking in each person before continuing. “Let us begin with a status update on the wounded. Manuela?”

Professor Casagranda perked up at her name being called, quickly clearing her throat. She stood up to face Seteth at the head of the room. Alongside Seteth, Dimitri sat at the center of the table with his eternally brooding look, Byleth, and Gilbert. An empty chair also stood by the king’s right hand.

“Of course. The majority of the injured have recovered or are on bedrest,” She began with a smile that quickly faded, “But that’s the good news. The bad news is our supplies are a bit low after the heavy toll of the battle.”

Seteth frowned at the thought but nodded.

“I see. We’ll work with the merchants to resupply what we can,” Seteth acknowledged. “That unfortunately segues nicely into a related topic. Supplies in general are running low, even more so than they should be. The Knight of Seiros suspect there may be those within Garreg Mach looting while we’re away at our battles.”

Dimitri growled at that, resting his cheek on his fist. Despite the sound, he maintained a bored expression.

“So we have rats scavenging for more than scraps, eh?” Dimitri surmised, earning a nod from Seteth. “Then we must go on a rat hunt. Until the culprits are eliminated we must tighten our belts. The Church and townsfolk with have to make do with what the merchants bring in.”

There were a few low grumblings from the others but most were in reluctant agreement. The side conversations ceased when Mercedes stood up.

“Does that include the orphans at the monastery?” She wondered.

“Unfortunately yes. Father Maxwell will have to make do with what he has currently and whatever donations he can scrounge up,” Dimitri nodded, causing Mercedes’s face to fall. “That being said, we need to resolve this problem. Sylvain.”

The Prince of Faerghus glanced to his right, looking past Ashe, Ingrid, and Felix at his target. The red head jumped in his seat.

“Y-yes?” Sylvain asked, caught like a deer in headlights.

Leaning back in his chair, Dimitri continued.

“I’m happy to see you’re moving again but you’ll be solving this problem.”

Tilting his head, Sylvain gave Dimitri a quizzical expression.

“Uh, is there any particular reason, your Majesty? Pardon my confusion, but this seems like a matter the Knights would usually handle.”

A light chuckle escaped Dimitri, easing the tension in the room.

“Normally I’d agree you’re right, but the Professor just spent a good amount of coin and rare materials to fix the Lance of Ruin,” Dimitri reminded Sylvain, causing the red head tug at his collar slightly. “So instead of having you run off collect the materials, as you’re in no condition to do so, you’ll be working to ensure we don’t lose any more. And, if the goddess is willing, you’ll recover what has been stolen from us.”

“Ah, I see…” Sylvain replied, disappointment evident in his tone. Felix gave Sylvain a sideways glare and elbowed him in the ribs. “I mean, thank you for the opportunity! I won’t let you down!”

A tiny smile formed on Byleth’s face at the amusing display.

“Good, which brings up another important topic: our prisoner of interest,” Dimitri began, his eye moving to focus on Ashe. Ashe averted his gaze from the king briefly as he continued. “Caspar awoke today. We met briefly and, much like I thought, he refused to join us.”

Upon hearing those words Ashe’s face fell, unable to hide his disappointment from those around him.

Manuela chewed on her lip but did not show any surprise, nor did Hanneman who sat to her left.

“Did he happen to mention why?” Felix asked, absently scratching at the fading bruise on his cheek.

“Not particularly. He will be ransomed in hopes of acquiring some actual loyal soldiers back into the fold,” Dimitri explained, glancing over at Manuela who was harder to read than Ashe. “Until then, only the Professor will see him to attend to his wounds. He shall receive no guests.”

At that, Sylvain quirked an eyebrow.

“Why are we healing him if we’re sending him back to fight us again?”

Dimitri took a deep breath before addressing Sylvain.

“Personally I’d send him back in pieces but… He will fetch more alive and uninjured.”

Sylvain slammed his hand on the wooden table, glaring at the king.

“But he tried to kill Felix!”

Felix scoffed loudly at that.

“He didn’t try to kill me,” Felix disagreed, crossing his arms.

Those words caught the attention of everyone else in the room. Even Dimitri gave him a curious glance.

“What are you talking about? I saw him try to lop your head off!” Sylvain disagreed.

Shaking his head, Felix clarified.

“You saw him knock me out. If he wanted to, Caspar could’ve parted my head from my body and ended the Fraldarius line that day. But he chose not to.”

Sylvain’s heated anger evaporated under Felix’s cool words. He scratched his head as he tried to understand his explanation.

“I’m not following.”

Rolling his eyes, Felix pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Perhaps if you actually trained like you’re supposed to and parried that javelin with your weapon instead of your shoulder you would’ve seen it,” Felix frowned, watching Sylvain shrink back from his sharp response. “Don’t mistake my defense of Caspar as forgiveness, because I will repay this headache one day, but I’ve sparred with him enough to know when his moves are deliberate, including this one.”

Dimitri rubbed his chin as he took in Felix’s reply.

“Interesting, he insisted he wasn’t trying to kill you as well. He said he was just protecting Ferdinand,” Dimitri added. “Are we sure he wasn’t part of the Adrestian army?”

Glancing at Seteth, the green haired man turned to Shamir.

The apathetic archer slowly stood up, sighing.

“We haven’t found any reports of him participating in the war,” she confirmed. “But we haven’t exactly been keeping tabs on him. Caspar isn’t an important player in the war.”

The sound of a wooden chair scraping against the stone drew attention to Ashe. He jumped to join the conversation.

“I’m not sure if it means much, but we also didn’t find any Adrestian heraldry on him when we recovered him from the battlefield.”

The room remained silent after Ashe’s addition to the discussion, eyes still focusing on him.

A chill ran down Ashe’s spine when he caught Dimitri watching him, as if passing judgement on something he couldn’t quite grasp. His knees were locked in place when his body started to tremble from being the center of attention. The only gaze that didn’t seem to pierce him was that of his beloved professor.

“I might actually have some insight on matter,” Professor Hanneman stated, rising to his feet. “Now as the former Golden Deer professor I rarely had any interactions with Caspar outside of detention, but I am privy to gossip from the Adrestian Empire. This rumor is a tad old but it was from the start of the war, if I may continue.”

Ashe quirked an eyebrow as he took a seat, certainly not expecting Hanneman speak.

“Please, go on,” Dimitri gestured with his hand.

“Well, the rumors say Caspar returned home for a time, like most students, but he left under mysterious circumstances. I’m afraid I don’t have anything more specific than hearsay. My point is that he isn’t perhaps the dire threat some of us seem to believe him to be.”

Side conversations soon sprouted while Dimitri mulled over the new information.

“Enough,” Dimitri finally stated, sitting up in his chair. “Regardless of his intentions or allegiances, Caspar will be ransomed. Seteth, please write up the letters for proposing an exchange. The professor will continue to care for him while we prepare for our next battle.”

“As you wish,” Seteth nodded. “That leaves the final topic. What is our next battle?”

Seteth’s question cast a silence over the room, everyone looking to Dimitri for guidance. The prince rubbed his chin but gave no immediate reply. His eye fell to the table while he thought of an answer.

“We fortify our positions for now. I… We need time to discuss the next course of action as it’s only been a few days since Gronder.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Dimitri scanned the room for any murmuring or disagreement, but only found the neutral expressions of his comrades.

“Dismissed.”

Ashe stood along with the others, trying to smile, but hanging his head low. He stepped out of the room and aimlessly began his journey to the stables. He felt a hand clap his shoulder, causing him to stare to his left. Ingrid gave him a supportive smile, but didn’t speak a word. Ashe tried to return the gesture but his smile didn’t quite reach as far as he wanted.

He continued his journey uninterrupted until he reached the courtyard.

“Ashe, do you have a moment?” Byleth’s voice froze him in place.

“Pr-professor?” Ashe squeaked back, turning to meet Byleth’s neutral gaze.

Byleth stopped in front of Ashe, offering for him to keep walking.

“I’ll keep this brief so let’s walk and talk,” Byleth gestured for Ashe to continue in the direction he was heading. The pair made it all of three steps when the professor shocked Ashe. “What do you think about Caspar’s refusal to join us?”

The question sent a chill down Ashe’s spine, freezing him in place. Byleth’s cool tone left Ashe at ease. There was no judgement or disappointment in his voice, only the curiosity Ashe grew to expect from his teacher when he tried to guide a conversation. Butterflies began to fly around his stomach.

“I’m sad, but… I understand,” Ashe admitted. His fingers found a loose thread on the hem of his jacket and began to twist it. “I can’t imagine what I’d say if I were captured and asked to fight against my friends.”

Byleth made a sound of approval as a patrol of soldiers passed them. The professor proceeded forward slowly until Ashe took the hint and ran to catch up with him.

“True, but he isn’t fighting for his friends, assuming the information we have is correct.”

Ashe scratched his chin while he pondered that statement.

“Perhaps, but we don’t have all the information. I suppose you’ll have to ask Caspar when you see him next.”

Chuckling at that, Byleth offered his former student a tiny smirk.

“I will. But I want to know your thoughts. You two fought side by side as students so, besides Linhardt and myself, you have the best insight into Caspar.”

Biting his bottom lip, Ashe pressed a fist to his mouth as he thought about it.

“Well, Caspar likes to fight, so I would think the war would appeal to him, but he prefers to do so in the name of justice. Maybe he doesn’t believe either side is in the right? Or he simply doesn’t wish to fight against his friends? I really don’t know, professor.”

Byleth stared upwards as he took in Ashe’s response. He watched the clouds, processing the words.

“True, but introspection can help understanding and approaching conversation from a better perspective. We can make an educated guess based on what we know. He fought Felix to protect his friends yet didn’t kill him. He regards both sides as friends, but didn’t hesitate to take up arms for one against another.”

Ashe paused once more, furrowing his brow.

“I guess that’s true. Then if what Professor Hanneman says is true then perhaps he isn’t on the best terms with the Empire. His father is the head of the army after all.”

“Exactly, which makes this very curious.”

“But what Professor Hanneman said is only a rumor,” Ashe sighed, shaking his head. “If you don’t mind me asking Professor, what conversation are you trying to have with Caspar?”

As quick as it arrived, Byleth’s smile faded back to his neutral expression.

“Whatever conversation I might have when I see him,” Byleth informed Ashe, leaving his former student confused. “Which brings me to my last request. Do you mind making a small meal or snack for Caspar?”

Byleth’s question caused Ashe to straighten up and stare at him.

“Make him something? Why would you want that?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Byleth stopped at an intersection. “I simply wish to remind him that we’re still his friends. And what better than something from you?”

Ashe felt a shiver go down his spine.

“W-why me though? Surely you can get something already made at the cafeteria.”

Shaking his head, Byleth placed a hand on Ashe’s shoulder.

“It’s not the same as a meal from a friend,” Byleth answered, stirring up old emotions in his student. He quirked an eyebrow as Ashe seemingly shrunk under the label. 

“Professor, I’m not sure if Caspar even regards me as a friend. We haven’t spoken in over five years.”

“I remember when Caspar left and the effect it had on you,” Byleth frowned. He watched Ashe’s face fall as an old wound reopened. Squeezing Ashe’s shoulders, he gave him a reassuring nod. “Regardless, if he sees us as friends or not, the important thing is that you see him as one. And in light of your recent actions, I believe its clear your stance on the matter.”

A strangled noise escaped Ashe, his jaw dropped from the professor’s statement. Between the boldness and how easily it pierced him, Ashe stood there astonished for a few moments until he could piece together a response.

“I can’t tell if you’re happy with my actions or deem them irresponsible, professor,” Ashe replied, his tone calmer than he expected. “But if you want a snack, I can prepare something.”

Byleth shrugged, a tiny wry smile on his face.

“Good, please have it ready in the morning. A meal from a friend should remind him that we care. And have the best cooks.”

At that Ashe furrowed his brow.

“Wait a minute, are you trying to win Caspar to our side with food?”

Byleth’s smile disappeared again and he regained his air of nonchalance.

“Why would you think that?”

Narrowing his eyes, Ashe mustered his most suspicious expression.

“Because Caspar loves food and no one can forget your… meals together. No one wanted to clean up the aftermath since it was always such a chore.”

Byleth scoffed at the notion.

“If I recall correctly, you were present for most of those meals.”

Hanging his head low, Ashe slowly shook it.

“And I regret the part I played in them. But that doesn’t answer the question, professor. If you remember our times together then surely you haven’t forgotten Caspar’s fondness for food.”

“Perhaps not. One should always be prepared to leverage all known weaknesses when dealing with an enemy.”

Ashe locked gazes with Byleth, hoping to catch him looking away or find some other tell but his professor remained steadfast.

“An enemy? You just said we were his friends!”

“He’s our prisoner so I should regard him as a foe until proven otherwise. Never let your guard down.”

Ashe frowned while tilting his head, as if studying a puzzle he didn’t quite have all the pieces to

“I believe you’re trying to pass bribery off as wisdom but I truly can’t tell.”

“It can be both,” Byleth spoke, rubbing his chin. “After a meal from you it may be clearer.”

“Professor…”

A blush crept up Ashe’s cheeks at the suggestion, barely hiding his freckles. The butterflies in his stomach died down in favor of the confusion.

“You focus on taking care of the stables, as per your punishment,” Byleth reminded Ashe. Before the boy could squeak a reply, Byleth turned towards the market. “And I’ll worry about Caspar the friendly foe.”

Ashe could only watch in silence the professor walked away, leaving him both dumbfounded and perplexed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marcus continues to be a treat to write and a little ball of chaos. If I didn't get across he pretty much has hair like pre-time skip Caspar right now. With freckles. And five years old.
> 
> And it took an eternity but Kyphon the cat (kitty from the Ashe and Caspar supports) makes an appearance! We finally get some indirect Caspar and Ashe fluff next chapter, I am excite :3
> 
> As always, all feedback is loved and I greatly appreciate everyone taking the time to read this! I love reading your theories in the comments, some of you aren't too far off in your ideas! 
> 
> (Sorry for not sorry for the terrible Casper the friendly ghost joke at the end. It wrote itself.)


	7. As Ready As I'll Ever Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While making preparations for something, Linhardt tells Marcus a story. The Story of the Mutiny in the Mist.

The chair creaked under Linhardt’s weight as he readjusted his posture. His body slipped lower while his eyes scanned the parchment in his hands. He practically jumped out of his seat when he heard a gentle knocking at the door to the study.

“Yes?” Linhardt inquired, keeping his voice even.

Linhardt laid the document on the desk and shifted some other papers over it.

“I’ve brought your evening meal, milord,” a muffled female voice spoke through the door.

“You may enter,” Linhardt replied. He sat up as the servant opened the door. “Thank you, Maria.”

“Of course, milord.”

Maria walked over with a silver tray, setting it down on the edge of the desk. A plate of rice and meat alongside a bowl of fruits were carefully laid out.

“Perfect,” Linhardt smiled. He reached for some cutlery. “Did you make any progress on my other request?”

The servant nodded.

“Yes. A few days of provisions, a change of clothes, and a bedroll are being packed as we speak. They’ll be attached to your saddlebag this evening.”

Grabbing the napkin, Linhardt folded it over his lap.

“Good work. And what of our new house guest? How is he doing?”

Upon hearing that question, Maria’s face fell.

Linhardt paused mid-stab, his fork hovering over a grape.

“He is less than pleased, sir.”

Poking the grape, Linhardt frowned.

“Meaning? I imagined he wouldn’t be happy without his father, but a little more detail would be appreciated.”

“It is only speculation, but I don’t know if he slept last night. He’s been running around the manor all day and doesn’t lack for energy but he only seems a few words away from tears.”

“I see. Well, please prepare similar provisions and pack them alongside my own. It might be best if he accompanies me on my journey to Enbarr.”

The servant tilted her head, furrowing her brow.

“If I may ask, why take him with you?”

Linhardt chuckled.

“You may. But I believe some fresh air will do Marcus some good. He’s been raised in the outdoors his entire life. Without Caspar, his entire world has been turned upside down, so some familiarity might help him.”

The servant nodded.

“That’s insightful, milord.”

“No need for formalities, Maria. But that is all. Thank you for the meal.”

Nodding once more, the servant offered him a tiny smile before taking her leave, closing the door behind her.

Taking a quick moment to glance around the study and confirm he was alone, Linhardt cleaned the mess on his desk and resumed his earlier reading. He relaxed into his chair once more and slowly ate his meal. His eyes followed familiar handwriting while he gnawed on some meat.

After some time, Linhardt laid his fork against an empty plate. Stretching his arms, he let out a loud yawn.

“I suppose I should be thankful for your detailed notes, Professor Hanneman,” Linhardt commented aloud. He turned to face a shelf on the opposite side room, away from the entrance. As he surveyed the various herbs, he failed to hear the soft click of the door. “But at least I have everything. I think.”

Linhardt stood and went to gather the ingredients. He began to pluck the herbs when he heard a creak from behind him. Spinning on his heels, Linhardt’s hair whipped around his face.

“Hello?” Linhardt called out, not finding anyone in the room. His eyes scanned the room but to no avail. He noticed the door was cracked open but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary.

Quirking an eyebrow, Linhardt returned to the task at hand and resumed gathering supplies.

After a few minutes of browsing Linhardt returned to his desk to set down what he gathered before going to the door and closing it. He sat back down and pulled out a pestle and mortar from a drawer.

“Let’s see. Start with a vulnerary and add tears of the goddess…” Linhardt mumbled as he read Professor Hanneman’s letter. He blindly reached for his ingredients while he read ahead in the instructions.

“Here you go,” a tiny voice replied.

Linhardt wrapped his hand around something cold and metallic.

“Oh why thank- gah!” Linhardt gasped, his head snapping to his left. His eyes fell onto Marcus who was leaning over the edge of the desk looking at all the new things Linhardt laid out. “By the goddess, where did you come from?”

Pressing a hand over his chest, Linhardt closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Marcus grinned widely.

“From papa!”

Linhardt gave the small child a deadpan look, but it didn’t have any effect on the giggling kid.

“Not what I meant, but technically not wrong,” Linhardt confirmed, his eyes now glancing at his other hand. He found himself holding his fork again. “And this is not a vulnerary or tears of the goddess.”

Marcus tilted his head, his smile falling into a contemplative frown.

“What’s that?”

Linhardt held up the utensil.

“This is a fork,” he informed Caspar’s son. Pointing at a glass bottle he continued. “This potion is called a vulnerary.”

“Oh! That’s papa’s magic juice! It makes me good,” Marcus replied with a wide smile again.

Linhardt blinked twice, his face still stoic.

“I see. Well, that is what it does in a manner of speaking.”

“It can talk? Papa says I should drink it when I don’t feel good.”

Linhardt pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath.

“No it can’t talk, that was an expression.”

Marcus furrowed his brow.

“What’s an ‘expression’?” he wondered.

Linhardt shook his head, pulling the cork off the potion with a dull pop. He poured a little bit into the mortar and set the glass aside, far out of Marcus’ reach.

“An expression is… Hm, I’ve never had to define that before. Expressions are like a set of words that can mean something different from the individual words,” Linhardt answered. He turned to Marcus and found the kid still staring at him confused. “For example I wasn’t talking about the vulnerary talking. ‘in a manner of speaking’ means that what you said is kind of true.”

“Okay.”

Marcus nodded but Linhardt simply shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t expect you to understand just yet, You’ll learn with time, assuming your father gives you a proper education,” Linhardt commented, picking up the flower. “Here’s another lesson. This is called tears of the goddess.”

Linhardt held the flower closer to Marcus, who leaned in.

“Ooh, pretty.”

Linhardt chuckled at that, cracking a tiny smile.

“It is I suppose. Do you want to know how it got its name?”

Marcus’s face lit up once more.

“Yeah!”

“Well, unlike most plants, this flower has multiple blossoms on its stem. See these purple things?”

Linhardt gestured at the numerous blossoms.

Marcus nodded along.

“Yeah, they’re pretty!”

“If you pull back a petal you can see inside, like this. Notice how there are these white dots? They say the goddess herself cried onto each petal and bestowed it with some of her healing magic,” Linhardt spoke while he plucked off a few blossoms. he added them to his mortar where they floated atop the red liquid.

“So cool…” Marcus commented, his hands clenched into tiny fists in front of his chest. “What’s a goddess?”

At that, Linhardt choked on air. He dropped the plant and stared at Marcus.

“Caspar seriously didn’t tell you? Ugh, what has he been teaching you?”

Marcus frowned, puffing his cheeks slightly. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Don’t talk bad about papa! He-He-He’s been teaching me to read! And write!”

“Really? What can you do?”

Linhardt grabbed a pencil and a discarded piece of parchment, handing it to Marcus.

Marcus snatched the paper and pencil, then took a seat on the ground. While he got to work, Linhardt returned to preparing the medicine. He worked quietly while he heard Marcus’s loud scratching.

“I can write my name. And papa’s!”

Linhardt glanced down to see Marcus holding the paper proudly with both hands. Written in obnoxiously big letters was his name but with the R written backwards. Just below that in equally big letters was the word ‘papa’.

“I see. That’s… actually better than your father at your age.”

Upon hearing the compliment, Marcus gave a toothy grin.

“I’m smart!”

“You are something,” Linhardt agreed with a chuckle. Glancing back at the letter, he skimmed the remaining lines. “Just gotta mix and let it settle. Easy enough.”

Grabbing bowl and pestle, Linhardt began to mix the ingredients while Marcus watched him.

“Tell me, Marcus, did you sleep well last night?”

As quick as Marcus lit up, his expression faded. He lowered the paper and his face became crestfallen.

“My tummy hurt and papa... papa...'' Marcus started to reply before he began sniffling loudly. “I miss papa.”

Linhardt felt a pang of guilt in his chest, his heart seizing for a moment.

“Well you did ingest poison… but don’t worry, we’re gonna go see your father soon.”

Marcus’s head shot up to meet Linhardt’s gaze. Tears were prickling at the edges of his eyes.

“We are?” Marcus asked, his tiny voice sound on the cusp of breaking.

“Yes,” Linhardt nodded, setting the mortar and pestle down. “I was gonna surprise you tomorrow but you need to get your rest before then. And most importantly, you cannot tell anyone. Do you understand?”

Marcus pressed his trembling lips together and nodded vigorously.

“Good. Now let’s get you to bed. Your medicine will be ready in the morning.”

“Okay…”

Linhardt stood and began to walk to the door. He made it all of one step before he felt a sudden weight on his sleeve. Glancing down, he saw Marcus clinging to it as he caught up to him. Letting the kid be, he accompanied him to the guest bedroom.

When they reached the door, Marcus ran ahead to open it for Linhardt and ran in behind him.

A half melted candelabra provided the light in the room, casting a flickering light over most of the furniture.

Linhardt’s eyes widened when he saw the bed was still made, though the fabric was disheveled atop it. There was also an unexpected garment atop the bed. He stepped in and almost immediately tripped over a pack in the middle of the room.

“Gah!” Linhardt shouted as he caught himself, noticing the discarded backpack. He stumbled forward but noticed it was open with various objects thrown about it.

Marcus scuttled around it and climbed atop the bed. Instead of going underneath the blankets, he instead chose to wrap himself in the garment that was atop the bed.

Linhardt walked over to the edge of the bed so he could get a closer look. When the familiar pattern of the impromptu blanket registered with him, a chill ran down his spine and froze his legs in place. He watched as Marcus managed to wrap himself up almost like a burrito so only his next of silvery blue hair appeared initially. Soon the rest of his head popped out and his freckles almost glowed in the flames.

Marcus met Linhardt’s gaze and frowned.

“Are you okay?”

Shaking himself from his stupod, Linhardt nodded.

“Yes. I didn’t realize you still had that,” Linhardt explained, pointing to the blanket.

Marcus pulled the fabric closer to himself.

“Its my blankie…”

“Uh huh. I was there when Professor Hanneman wrapped you in that scarf. It's definitely seen better days but I see it's still doing its job.”

Linhardt felt goosebumps go down his arms as memories of that night five years prior played in his head.

“You were there when I was born?” Marcus wondered, tilting his head.

“Yes, I helped deliver you into this world. I was your father’s midwife I suppose. Not sure you heard that yesterday or not,” Linhardt clarified.

“Midwife? Are you my mama?” Marcus wondered, going wide-eyed.

At that, Linhardt also went wide-eyed. He quickly flailed his arms in front of himself.

“No, no! A midwife is not the same as a mother.”

Marcus’s excitement died a bit at that.

“But- but mama’s are married to papa’s?” Marcus insisted.

“I was a midwife, not a wife. There is a difference.” Linhardt tried to explain, raising his index finger and wagging it in the air.

Marcus narrowed his eyes at Linhardt.

“Mid-mama?”

“Nice try but that’s not correct. Mostly.”

“Is it a ‘man her of talking’?”

Linradt raised his finger but stopped as he tried to process what Marcus said. His first instinct was to bite back a childish denial but soon realization dawned on him.

“Did… did you try to use an expression?”

Marcus simply nodded his head, biting his bottom lip.

“That wasn’t the right way to use it but- well, good job. Good try. Now get some rest.”

A smile flashed across Marcus’s face until Linhardt turned to leave.

“No! Don’t leave me!” The child pleaded, causing Linhardt to turn around.

He found Marcus on the edge of tears again.

“By the goddess… I can’t stay the night with you, Marcus. You’re a growing boy.”

“Papa stayed with me…” Marcus complained, curling into himself.

Guilt tugged at Linhardt’s heartstrings, causing him to wince at those words. He found himself stepping closer and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Well, I’m not your papa. And one day you’ll have to get used to sleeping by yourself. To be honest, I find the experience to be one of the most exquisite pastimes-” Linhardt tried to argue, but paused once he heard Marcus groaning. Sighing, he continued. “How about this? I’ll tell you a story about your dad and then you go to bed. Is that fair?”

Upon hearing those words, Marcus rolled over into Linhardt’s side.

“Yes!” The child readily agreed.

Linhardt snorted at the change in behavior. “Fine. Let me tell you about… I don’t know. The first time someone got through to him?”

Marcus furrowed his brow at that.

“Did papa fight someone strong?”

“A few people actually. But the more interesting one is the person who he didn’t fight. Too much at least.”

“Thank you, mid-mama!”

“My name is Linhardt.”

\---

“To arms, the rebels slipped past the perimeter using the fog!” A knight shouted, running by the group of students. 

No more a few seconds later, Byleth returned to the Blue Lions alongside the prince and Ashe. The remaining students jumped to their feet and drew their weapons.

“Change of plans!” Dimitri announced as the group circled up in the foggy woods. “Lord Lonato’s forces are descending on us. Circle up and prepare for combat!”

Felix nodded and pointed his sword at the mist surrounding them.

“Heck yeah, we get to fight!” Caspar cheered, resting his axe on his shoulder.

Byleth drew his blade, but glanced at Caspar.

“I know this is your first battle with us, but keep close. I promised Manuela I’d get you back in one piece. Our job is to support the knights as they advance.”

Caspar grinned back, scratching his nose with his finger.

“I’m always careful, professor.”

While distracted, Caspar failed to notice a nearby bush shake.

“Lord Lonato doesn’t deserve such sadness… Now it’s your turn to suffer!” A militiaman shouted, running out from the foliage. He made it all of three steps before an arrow sunk into his neck. The soldier crumpled to the ground, screaming.

Caspar quickly pointed his weapon at the downed man, far too late. He watched as the man choked on his own blood. Turning to his left, he saw the silver haired archer holding an empty bow.

Ashe averted his gaze from the scene in front of him, his bottom lip trembling. The sound blood gurgling sent a chill down his spine.

“Oh, thanks Ashe! Nice shot!” Caspar complimented as her began to survey their surroundings for more hidden enemies.

Ignoring the praise, Ashe shook his head and mumbled to himself, “Why Lonato? Why did you drag so many others into this?”

Byleth wanted to offer a sympathetic expression, but the familiar clanging of metal drew his attention to the other Knights of Seiros.

“Felix, Dimitri, on me. We’re going to support the knights. Everyone else- stay together and advance slowly. We don’t know what traps are hidden in the mist,” Byleth ordered.

“Yes, professor,” the class acknowledged as the group began to separate.

Following their teacher’s commands, most of the students hung back and took defensive positions.

“Stay by my side and I’ll protect you, ladies,” Sylvain offered with a wry grin, earning an exasperated groan from Ingrid.

Mercedes giggled while Annie focused on another soldier that emerged from the woods.

“Say anything else absurd like that again and I’ll slap you,” Ingrid threatened, rolling her eyes.

“I appreciate the gesture, Sylvain,” Mercedes replied with a smile, though her eyes remained on Annete’s opponent. “I think we’ll manage just fine.”

While the other Blue Lions chatted, Ashe kept his eyes trained on the environment. He followed shadows that moved through the fog, but instead of taking aim he looked for another opening.

“There,” Ashe muttered when he saw a path.

Instead of warning the others, Ashe darted forward while they bickered.

“Huh? Wait up!” Caspar called after Ashe as he noticed his classmate run into the fog.

Caspar rushed after Ashe. He quirked an eyebrow as he watched Ashe tiptoe around other shadows in the mist, a skill he himself was unable to do. Caspar quickly bumped into another militiaman.

“Huh? A kid?” The lancer briefly reacted before Caspar punched him in the face. As the man recoiled, Caspar followed up with an axe to the chest. He easily dropped the untrained man.

“I’m no kid,” Caspar glared at the dead man. “At least I know how to fight.”

When Caspar glanced back up, Ashe was further ahead.

“Hey, wait up, Ashe!” Caspar shouted but his call fell on deaf ears. He made it a few more steps before he stumbled into another surprised soldier.

Ashe pressed through the dense fog, stopping to hide in some brush as he navigated around the enemies dotting the area. Sweat dripped down his brow while his mind raced. Memories of running through the forests around the Gaspard estate flooded Ashe’s head. The sounds of his siblings’ giggling, Christophe’s distant voice calling to them, and even Lonato’s cheerful laugh.

What were once pleasant memories now cast a shadow over the once-cheerful boy.

Shaking himself from his stupor, Ashe grabbed his bow and dashed for the next piece of cover.

Ashe continued his stealthy approach, pausing whenever he heard the faint echoes of battle or soldiers passing by. The clanging of steel and screams of wounded men clawed at his ears but he pushed on with a grimace as combat drew near.

Creeping along the treeline, Ashe found an area where the fog dispersed ever so slightly.

Standing amidst some ruins on horseback was a wrinkled knight, clad in polished armor. Ashe’s breath hitched upon recognizing his adoptive father.

“We have them surrounded! Crush the Knights of Seiros!” Lonato ordered, gesturing with his hand towards a direction in the mist.

Ashe’s heart sank upon hearing his father’s voice. Gone was the kind and gentle soul he knew from his childhood, replaced by a harsh tone. The twisted expression of anger on Lonato’s face bore little resemblance to the man he knew.

“Yes, sir! For Christophe!” The soldiers cheered as they lowered their weapons and charged off into the mist.

Other foot soldiers still guarded Lonato, a mixture of folks Ashe recognized. The armored ones he knew as guards from the city and Gaspard estate, but the poorly equipped soldiers were almost certainly sympathetic townsfolk.

Ashe barely had time to process the storm of emotions in his chest as a familiar sound cut through the thick fog and drew everyone’s attention.

“Hyah! Who's next?!” Caspar’s voice echoed.

Ashe, Lonato, and the soldiers nearby snapped towards the direction of the shouting.

“Get back here you brat!” A foreign voice called out.

“I told you I’m not- gah! Cheap shot!” Caspar grunted, stumbling backwards into Ashe’s field of view.

The blue-haired boy fell on his ass, his axe landing in the dirt beside him. The boy was covered from head to toe in scratches, cuts, and bruises. Blood dripped down part of his face but that did little to deter the fierce look in his eyes.

A wounded soldier came through the mist, one of the castle guards. He held his own axe over his head.

“Any last words, brat?” The soldier insulted him once more.

“Yeah, my name's Caspar!”

Caspar swept a leg under the soldier, dropping him to his back. In a swift motion, Caspar grabbed his axe and jumped on the fallen man’s chest, easily planting the blade into an exposed piece of flesh.

“Argh!” The soldier grunted for a moment, his arms desperately grabbing at Caspar. His limbs flailed for a few moments before eventually falling still.

Sensing the life was gone from the soldier, Caspar hopped off the man and turned around. When he spotted a group pointing lances, axes, and swords at him, his shoulders slumped.

“Oh come on!” Caspar complained.

Before any soldier could advance, Lonato raised a hand.

“Just a moment. What is a child doing on the battlefield?” Lonato asked Caspar, narrowing his eyes.

“How many times do I need to repeat myself, I’m not a kid! My name is Caspar von Bergliez and I’m going to bring you to justice!” Caspar declared, earning puzzled and skeptical looks from the soldiers.

Lonato maintained his glare.

“I see, so you’re with the church? Rhea is now sending kids to fight in her stead. How gutless.” Lonato spat, drawing his lance.

“For the last time I-”

“I don’t care,” Lonato interrupted Caspar, managing to successfully quiet the kid. “You claim to fight for justice, but there can be no justice among those that desecrate the goddess!”

Caspar gripped his axe and got into a fighter’s stance.

“What are you talking about? The church serves the goddess! Right?” Caspar replied, quirking an eyebrow.

“Such blessed ignorance. The Church makes a mockery of the goddess’s teachings to further its own goals,” Lonato growled, glancing towards his hand. The leather gauntlet tightened around his fist as he clenched it. “And if you don’t fit their goals, you’re summarily rounded up and executed for crimes you didn’t commit! That was the fate of my son, Christophe!”

Ashe’s heart tore itself in two hearing the rage in Lonato’s voice, tears pricking the edges of his eyes.

Caspar frowned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but from my view you’re the villain! Getting everyone caught up in your grudge isn’t heroic at all!” Caspar spat back.

At that, Lonato met Caspar’s eyes.

“I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt due to your ignorance, but no more. If you refuse to get out of my way, we will cut you down!” Lonato stated, his voice dark. When Caspar refused to budge, he sighed. “Then so be it!”

Lonato’s horse charged forward with his lance pointed at Caspar. It galloped a few paces before silver flashed in front of its eyes, causing it to rear up.

Not expecting the sudden halt, Lonato found himself thrown from his horse, landing in some brush. His soldiers rushed to his side.

“Get off me, I’m fine.” Lonato declared.

Both Lonato and Caspar glanced around to see what happened, eventually finding an arrow embedded in the ground near Lonato’s steed. Tracing the trajectory, they followed it to the treeline where Ashe stood trembling, empty bow in hand.

Several of the soldiers pointed their weapons at Ashe, but one quickly lowered his. It was one of the castle guards.

“There you are!” Caspar shouted, smiling. “Come on, we got this!”

The soldiers kept their weapons pointed at Ashe, but looked at Caspar like he grew a second head.

“Is he serious?” One of them wondered aloud.

Despite the commotion around him, Ashe and Lonato locked eyes and remained silent.

Lonato quietly stood up and dusted himself off. When he saw his adoptive son not lowering his bow, he scowled slightly.

“Stand down, Ashe. I must destroy these evil-doers by any means necessary!” Lonato spoke.

Ashe frowned at Lonato’s words.

“But he’s not an evil doer,” Ashe disagreed, gesturing to Caspar. “Whatever your reasons for doing this, we can still talk it out. Please!”

“Those who blindly follow that infidel Rhea will share in her fate! She has deceived the populace and must pay for her crimes. We have virtue and the goddess herself on our side.”

Lonato swiped an arm in front of himself and stamped the base of his lance into the ground.

Ashe slowly slid down the hill with his bow at his side, no one daring to approach him. He walked towards an injured Caspar.

“Even if that is true, this isn’t right!” Ashe shook his head, meeting the gaze of the soldiers. “Dragging the townsfolk into this… There has got to be another way!”

Lonato softened his gaze, eyes falling to the ground.

The soldiers looking to the older general exchanged puzzled looks.

However, it was Caspar who broke the stalemate.

“Ashe, what are you doing?” Caspar whispered, not so quietly.

“I’m trying to resolve this peacefully,” Ashe informed him, not even glancing over his shoulder at his fellow student.

“We’re in the middle of battle! Peace isn’t exactly an option!” Caspar replied, a confused expression now on his face.

That got Ashe to spin on his heels, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Peace is always an option! There’s no reason more lives have to be sacrificed!” Ashe shook his head. Turning back to his father. “Please, Lonato, I’m begging you.”

Caspar lowered his axe, jaw dropped.

Lonato glanced towards the sky and took a deep breath.

“I can’t, Ashe. For Christophe’s sake, I must create the justice he was denied,” Lonato shook his head, clenching his fist around his weapon. “You have a good heart, always. But this isn’t something I will back down from.”

“Why, Lonato?” Ashe shouted, his voice trembling. “Christophe wouldn’t have wanted this!”

That caused Lonato to bristle.

“Don’t tell me what my son would’ve wanted. He was denied that right! I was denied that right!”

Caspar took a step forward.

“Talking with him is pointless. Let's end this. You get the five on the right and I’ll get the six on the left,” Caspar stated, quickly receiving an icy stare from his teammate. Seeing who was considered the nicest person in the Blue Lions House suddenly glare daggers at him caused Caspar to flinch backwards. “O-okay, you can get the six on the left.”

“That’s not-” Ashe groaned, shaking his head. He turned back to the enemy general. “I’m not telling you what Christophe would’ve wanted, I’m telling you what my brother wouldn’t have wanted! You’re throwing away everything! The townsfolk' lives, your life- you can’t beat the Church!”

Lonato let out a tired growl.

“I won’t know unless I try, Ashe. Believe me, I know the price is high but it's a small cost for some justice to be served.”

“What about the broken families from this rebellion? What about Frederick and Lissa? What about us? Do you really think… really think he would’ve wanted that? All in his name?” Ashe asked, tears at his eyes.

Lonato softened his expression once more.

“Yes, those are things I must sacrifice,” Lonato admitted, his voice now lower. For a brief moment, the anger and hatred vanished from him. “Even back then I could see what a pure heart you had. In this cruel and unflinching world I hope it remains untainted. I pray that if you ever have a child, you never lose them like I- no, we. Like how we lost Christophe. No one should suffer like I have.”

Ashe took a step towards Lonato, extending a hand. He froze when he saw his adoptive father steel his resolve.

“Lonato-”

“But, if I must sacrifice everything to avenge my son, I will. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be! Now, Ashe, make your choice. Either stand aside or join the fate of those who oppose my quest for justice!”

“Lonato… father… please!”

“Enough,” Lonato declared, pointing his lance at Ashe. “If that is how you feel, prepare yourself! I’m putting an end to this!”

Before Ashe could respond, a flash of blue bolted by him.

“Now you’re speaking my language!” Caspar declared as he ran forward.

Two soldiers quickly intercepted Caspar, baring their own spears at him.

Seeing the pointy sticks, Caspar fell to his knees and slid underneath them. One of the pointed blades clipped his hair as he performed the maneuver.

“Caspar!” Ashe called out, quickly reaching for an arrow from his quiver.

“I got- this?” Caspar shouted until he found himself facing another set of soldiers with axes and swords. He turned to retreat, but realized the spearmen from before now had his back. “Oh, drat.”

One of the spearmen behind him went to stab him, but as he performed the motion, he instead crumpled to the ground with an arrow in the back of his skull.

Behind him, Ashe stood with wide-eyes but grit teeth.

“Get out of there, Caspar!” Ashe demanded.

“Keep covering me!” Caspar shouted back, turning to fight one of the axe wielders.

“Caspar!” Ashe yelled, having to fire another arrow at a soldier that tried to attack his partner’s back again.

The next few moments repeated that as Ashe did his best to cover Caspar’s exposed areas. While Caspar did not make much progress, he succeeded by injuring some of the soldiers.

“This has gone on long enough,” Lonato spoke, pushing aside some of his injured soldiers. “Take a rest, I got this.”

“Finally!” Caspar grinned, charging at Lonato. He raised his axe over his head.

Rather than engage verbally, Lonato took a defensive stance and prepared to swing his lance at Caspar’s obvious opening.

Seeing the events about to play out, Ashe forced himself to release an arrow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lonato saw his adoptive son’s move and readjusted to avoid the shot. Rather than try to avoid Caspar, he blocked the incoming axe strike with his armored forearm.

“Huh?” Caspar reacted when he saw his axe seemingly slip off the armored general.

“What are they teaching you at the Academy these days?” Lonato wondered, as he took advantage of the opening. Due to his proximity to Caspar he couldn’t use his lance, so he let go of his weapon. Instead he followed up with a powerful punch to the gut.

“Gah!” Caspar coughed out, all the breath in his chest suddenly gone. He dropped his axe and crumpled to his knees. Clutching his chest, Caspar sputtered. “Ow…”

“I saw that coming from a mile away. If this is Rhea’s best, I have my work cut out for me,” Lonato huffed, bending down to pick up his lance and to grab Caspar by his collar. He effortlessly hoisted the smaller boy who now squirmed like a fish out of water.

Ashe paled as he saw his adoptive father ready his weapon.

“Lonato, don’t!” Ashe shouted, earning a quick glance from the man who raised him. The kindness in his eyes was nowhere to be found.

Before he could respond, another soldier shouted.

“The Knights are- Gah!”

Ashe and Lonato turned to see a flash of red in the mist.

Casually strolling through the fog and pointing her weapon ahead, Catherine smiled.

“It’s you…” Lonato stated, his voice dripping with malice and bitterness. “Thunderstrike Cassandra. It was your wretched zealotry that killed my son!”

Lonato tightened his grip on his weapon while the soldiers around him did the same, though they were shaking in their armor.

Chuckling at the man, Catherine smirked.

“The only name I answer to is Catherine. Prepare to taste the blade of one who serves the goddess,” Catherine announced, pointing Thunderbrand at the man ahead of her. “Prepare to face a Knight of Seiros!”

Dropping Caspar like a sack of potatoes, Lonato pointed his lance at Catherine.

“Get her!”

Ashe watched with a mixture of awe and horror as Catherine skillfully cut her way through the ragtag soldiers with practiced ease. Guards and militiamen alike fell to her blade like paper to fire, and her eyes were trained on Lonato next.

“Lonato!” Ashe shouted as his adoptive father ran at her. His face paled as he watched the two exchange blows. 

Unlike the others, Lonato managed to hold his own for a bit, but soon even his skill fell to Catherine might. With one decisive strike, Catherine parried a strike and capitalized on the opening. She stabbed Lonato through the chest.

Ashe felt his legs give out underneath him and he collapsed to his knees as his adoptive father coughed up blood.

Catherine pulled the blade out and cleaned the blood on her skirt before sheathing the blade. She allowed Lonato to topple backwards to the ground.

“Our job here is done, good job everyone!” Catherine declared, to the cheers of many others in the mist.

As the fog began to lift, Ashe crawled over to Lonato’s body, now abandoned by his opponent.

“Lonato, I…” Ashe whispered, pulling the man’s head into his lap. Much to his surprise, his adoptive father opened his eyes, though they now appeared dull.

“That vile woman… Forgive me… Christophe…” Lonato spoke quietly, blood dripping down the side of his mouth. One last weak breath escaped him before he relaxed into Ashe’s trembling grasp.

“Lonato? Lonato?” Ashe repeated, tears now streaming down his face. Droplets landed on his adoptive father’s wrinkled face.

Caspar coughed up a storm, finally picking himself up from the crumpled mess he was unceremoniously left in.

“You alright, kid?” Catherine asked, staring down at the boy. She offered a hand to him.

“I’m not… Y-yeah,” he admitted as he took it.

Caspar was hoisted back to his feet with ease.

He glanced back to see Ashe openly weeping over the fallen general.

“I never thought I’d see Lonato meet this fate,” Catherine sighed as she observed the same scene.

Caspar frowned at the sight, his own stomach turning.

“Why did he do it? Lonato, I mean. He kept talking about justice but… that’s what we were fighting for. Right?” Caspar wondered, wiping the blood from his lips.

Catherine’s eyes stared at the muddy ground, not wanting to stare at the fallen general any longer.

“He felt his son had been cheated and sought to correct that, nothing more,” Catherine informed Caspar. “From his perspective, we were the villains.”

Caspar’s frown deepened at the thought. 

“But we were right, weren’t we?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Catherine shrugged, glancing back at the fog that was now lifting. “I fight for Lady Rhea, and what she says is the truth I believe in. To the civilians, I doubt they’ll see us that way. Lonato dragged a lot of innocents into this mess and now the region may harbor resentment towards us.”

Caspar scanned the battlefield to see the Knights of Seiros collecting soldiers that now openly dropped their weapons and surrendered.

“So it won’t end with Lonato.”

“It never does,” Catherine agreed. “When one conflict ends, another arises. But I’ll cut my way through the next one like I cut my way through this one. At the end of the day, what matters is that you’re the one left standing.”

Caspar nodded in agreement, though his stomach turned as he thought about it.

“You live up to your name, Thunder Catherine,” Caspar chuckled with a smile, earning an eye roll from the knight. “Can you teach me some moves?”

Sighing, Catherine shook her head.

“Just Catherine, please. And if you catch me in the training area, sure kid. You got moxie and I respect that. You just gotta learn to point it at something.”

Caspar quirked an eyebrow, scratching the back of his head.

“Point it at something?”

“Yes. Find your purpose and fight for it, like he tried,” Catherine gestured with her nose at Ashe.

Caspar’s eyes widened at that.

“You heard that earlier? He was wrong!”

“Not all of it, but enough,” Catherine shrugged. “I don’t agree with his naivety, but I won’t fault the kid for trying. He fought for his beliefs and lost.”

Tilting his head, Caspar watched as Ashe dried his tears and laid Lonato’s head on the ground. He pressed their foreheads together as his sobbing quieted.

“But we won, didn’t we?”

Catherine laughed hollowly at that.

“Of course we did. Doesn’t he look proud? Look around ya and take in this victory.”

Glancing around him, Caspar saw the various soldiers being tied up, some bloody, most crestfallen. Cries of anguish called out around the field as others learned of Lonato’s downfall. Eventually, he turned back to face Ashe. Caspar stood there watching the silver haired boy, unable to find words. He barely even registered Catherine leaving to tend to the other soldiers until he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Caspar saw Byleth standing there with his usual emotionless expression alongside Prince Dimitri.

“Pr-professor!” Caspar greeted.

“Caspar. I distinctly recall telling you to stay with the others so you wouldn’t end up like this,” Byleth spoke, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I… uh…”

“I’m sorry, professor, he was chasing after me,” Ashe apologized, standing beside Caspar. 

Caspar jumped a bit at the sudden appearance.

“Ah, when did you…?”

“He chased after me when I ran into the mist. Please forgive my rash behavior,” Ashe requested, his green eyes now dull and cheeks stained by tear streaks. His voice also sounded empty.

Byleth frowned slightly but nodded.

“Just stay aware of your surroundings going forward. The important thing is that both of you are safe.”

Despite Byleth’s softer tone, Ashe flinched at the words.

“Our professor is right, we’re happy to see you both safe,” Dimitri smiled, though it faltered when he took in Caspar’s appearance. “Mostly.”

Caspar chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ashe’s eyes remained on the grass, his body still trembling.

“Why… why did this have to happen? Lonato was always such a kind man,” Ashe lamented, his thoughts preoccupied. “Everyone in the village was so nice to me. And I-I-I killed them. I killed them all!”

Clutching his sides, fresh tears formed on the edges of his eyes.

“You didn’t kill them all. You protected yourself!” Caspar interjected but that thought seemed lost on Ashe.

“I had to… I know I had to, but still! What does that make me?”

Dimitri shook his head.

“Please don’t beat yourself up, Ashe. We did what had to be done,” the prince tried to be supportive, but it fell flat.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you,” Ashe apologized, turning to leave. “I’m going to check on the town. I hope my brother and sister are safe.”

Caspar reached out for Ashe, but the silver haired boy left without another word, the grass crunching beneath his heavy footsteps. He frowned as he reflected on Ashe’s words.

“But… we won…” Caspar mumbled, unsure of even his own words. His arm floated in the air for a bit before he took it back. When he glanced back at the enemy soldiers, Ashe’s words made sense.

Caspar saw men far too skinny to be in their armor, boys no older than him with cracked and obviously rusted weapons and farm implements. Yes, there were armored men and women amongst the dead, but they were greatly outnumbered by those who did not belong on the battlefield.

“They weren’t soldiers,” Caspar noted, finally understanding why his stomach was in knots.

“That… that was my first time killing civilians too. Those whom I’m sworn to protect,” Dimitri agreed, his eyes now dark.

Caspar hung his arms at his side, his joy sapped.

\---

“The end,” Linhardt stated, letting out a loud yawn at the end.

He sat on the edge of the bed while a wide-eyed Marcus focused on him.

“That’s it? What did papa do? Papa didn’t win a fight!” Marcus asked in rapid succession before accusing Lindhart.

“I mean he won a few minor battles, but they weren’t difficult,” Linhardt disagreed, standing up and dusting himself off.

“But- but- but-”

Shaking his head, Linhardt wagged his index finger back and forth.

“Nope, no but’s. We had a deal. Get some rest, you’re going to need it in the morning,” Linhardt reminded him, earning a loud groan from the kid. “No complaining. We’re doing my least favorite thing tomorrow so only I get to bemoan my loss.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes, wiggling deeper under his blanket.

“What’s that?”

“Getting up early,” Linhardt shuddered and wrinkled his nose, his voice laced with disgust.

“But who defeated papa? You said this was important to papa!”

Linhardt snorted at that.

“I did, didn’t I? Well it's important because your father told me all about it as soon as the battle ended. Your father did the impossible: he learned a lesson.”

Marcus tilted his head.

“What’s that?”

“He learned that justice isn’t black and white. He actually began to consider what he wanted to fight for, and not just for the sake of fighting. Of all the battles I’ve seen him fight, not once before then did I have ever see him stop to consider his actions,” Linhardt recalled, scratching his chin. “It felt like I witnessed a miracle.”

Marcus shook his head at that.

“Huh? Not that, mid-mama! What’s a lesson?”

Lindhart’s face fell flat at that. Taking a deep breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sothis, give me strength.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And much like usual, that chapter ran away from me. But hey, we got to see the first time Caspar and Ashe fought together (if that wasn't clear). Next time, some actual Caspar!
> 
> Special thanks to Doco56 for helping me come up with names for Ashe's sibling (Frederick and Lissa because I'm also an Awakening Fan)!
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoyed the update. Please let me know your thoughts, theories, or ideas! It was also my first tiem writing certain characters so I hope you all enjoyed Lonato and Catherine!


	8. Don't Tell Anyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt prepares for a journey while Caspar learns he was missed.

“Perhaps the skewers? No, we’re low on meat supplies as is. Oh! We have enough fruit to… no, wait. We’re out of Noa Fruit…” Ashe mumbled as he took note of the pantry in the kitchen. 

Sighing, Ashe sat down and pondered his options. He stretched his arms above his head as a loud yawn escaped him. The room blacked out for a moment as he blinked his eyes closed. When they reopened he found green eyes staring back at him.

“Ashe,” Dedue greeted, his face as stoic as ever. The slight tilt in his head conveyed more concern than his tone.

“Ah, Dedue!” Ashe spoke, any remnant of sleepiness vacating his voice. He shot up in the chair, sitting upright.

Taking a moment to observe Ashe, Dedue turned to place a heavy sack on the counter. While he unpacked some wrapped goods, he continued speaking.

“The monastery kitchen is an unusual choice for a nap.”

Ashe chuckled nervously at the comment.

“I suppose you’re right. I must’ve dozed off while deciding what to make.”

Dedue stacked a few bags on the edge of the counter.

“Unless I am mistaken, I believe I am in charge of food preparation this morning.”

Ashe’s bones cracked as he stood up, briefly wincing at the pain. He could feel his muscles chiding him for sleeping in such an awful position.

“No, it isn’t for myself. The Professor requested I prepare something for…” Ashe began to explain before the words died in his throat. He felt a blush creep up the back of his neck as he thought about it.

Dedue paused to observe Ashe.

“For whom?”

Uncertainty clouded Ashe’s mind, but he eventually replied.

“For Caspar. The Professor wishes to win him over with sustenance over substance.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Dedue frowned slightly.

“I see,” Dedue stated. “If I recall, Caspar had a fondness for hearty meals.”

A tiny smile formed on Ashe’s face.

“Your memory is as sharp as ever. That’s right.”

Dedue returned to stashing away the ingredients from his burlap sack.

“I also recall the mess you two left for after your meals together.”

At that, Ashe’s blush deepend. His face and mouth fell.

“Ah, so you do remember… I was only a witness to the disaster. The Professor and Caspar did most of the damage.”

A deep, but gentle chuckle escaped Dedue.

“Of course. But what seems to be troubling you?”

Ashe’s frown grew at the question.

“Am I really so easy to read? I wish to make something nutritious for Caspar since he is recovering, but we lack the supplies for anything that comes to mind. The only supply we have in abundance is onion thanks to Felix’s half-forgotten garden plot.”

It might’ve been a trick of the morning light, but Ashe thought he saw a brief smirk on the Duscur man’s face.

“I see. Well, Ingrid’s hunting this morning was quite successful. I believe I could spare a few slices.”

To emphasize his point, Dedue pulled a rather large hunk of meat wrapped in brown paper from the sack. The counter shook from the weight as he dropped it.

“R-really? I mean, I couldn’t! We’re on such short supply as is-”

Dedue raised a finger, silencing his friend.

“Ashe, it is fine. There is plenty of game around Garreg Mach and we have those who relish the hunt. A few missing scraps hurts no one.”

Taking a cleaver from a nearby table, Dedue carefully sliced a few pieces for Ashe.

“Are you sure?” Ashe wondered, his eyes narrowing on the cuts.

“It is a request from the Professor, so I am sure.”

Dedue used the knife to slide the meat over the counter.

“Thank you, Dedue. If meat isn’t a problem then- oh, that’s perfect!”

A brilliant smile returned to Ashe’s face as realization dawned on him. His eyes darted around the ingredient to take stock once more, only causing his grin to widen. He quickly began to fetch the few items he needed to make his vision come true. 

Dedue silently moved a few steps over to make room for Ashe as he deposited what he needed on the nearby counter.

The two worked in a comfortable silence, making their dishes.

\---

Candlelight cast away the darkness of the von Hevring estate’s halls, guiding Linhardt down the corridors. One hand held the glowing candelabra while the other covered his mouth as he yawned. He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. Arriving at the guest bedroom, Linhardt knocked the door twice before letting himself in.

When he opened the door, he found a tiny lump still asleep on the bed and wrapped in Professor Hanneman's scarf.

“It’s time, Marcus,” Linhardt whispered loudly.

The lump shifted slightly.

When Marcus didn’t reply, Linhardt sighed and walked closer. He set the candelabra down on the nightstand.

“Come on,” Linhardt tried again, prodding Marcus’s back.

“Mmmm...” A low growl came from the kid.

Rolling his eyes, Linhardt poked him again.

“Get up.”

Marcus turned over and pulled his blankie closer.

“Five more minutes, mid-mama…”

Linhardt’s face fell at that.

“For the- nevermind. Do you want to go see your dad or not?”

That sentence caused Marcus’s eyes to open, quickly focusing on Linhardt. Before the taller man had a chance to stand back, Marcus rolled over to the edge of the bed, still cocooned in the scarf.

“We’re going to see papa?!” He all but shouted.

Going wide-eyed, Linhardt quickly placed a hand over Marcus’s mouth.

“Quiet! No one must know what we’re doing, otherwise we can’t leave. Do you understand?” Linhardt asked in a hushed tone.

Marcus furrowed his brow, but nodded his head fervently.

Squinting at the kid for a moment, Linhardt slowly pulled his hand back. He wiped it clean on his chest.

“Okay!”

“Good. Now I must gather a few more things. Get dressed and Maria will fetch you when we’re ready. And, again, don’t tell her what we’re doing. Don’t tell anyone what we’re doing, got it?”

Marcus nodded again.

“Okay. Go get ready.”

Content with seeing Marcus rolling the other direction to free himself from his blanket, Linhardt took his leave of the room. He grabbed the candelabra and proceeded through his ancestral home as quickly and quietly as he could. The floor squeaked a few times under his weight.

Over the next half an hour Linhardt grabbed a few letters and medical equipment from the study. He placed some herbs and other ingredients in his satchel alongside a few vials full of a crimson liquid. Linhardt took care to insulate those vials from the other objects in his bag.

Once he finished packing his belongings, Linhardt blew out the candelabra and set it on the desk. He ran his hand along the smooth, dark wood.

“Until we meet again, old friend,” Linhardt chuckled to himself.

Linhardt left for the front door where he found Maria holding Marcus’s hand.

Marcus bounced back and forth on his feet, dressed in a loose fitting white shirt and dark pants. He wore a black vest over his shirt complete with a tiny white cravat. 

“He almost looks like his father,” Linhardt noted. “Except for his hair.”

Marcus smiled at the compliment while the servant let out a deep sigh.

“He refused to let me fix it, milord.”

Linhardt offered a sympathetic smile.

“That’s fine, he’s his father’s son. Except raised in the woods.”

Maria nodded, stepping forward to open the door.

The first bits of dawn leaked into the house, lighting up Marcus’s face. His freckled cheeks pushed back as he smiled widely at the sight of dawn.

“So pretty!” He giggled as he ran out the door.

Lindhart watched him scamper into the outdoors, hair practically glowing the same pink as the sunrise. Glancing back inside one more time, Linhardt held his breath. His eyes took in the various paintings, patterns in the wood, cracks in the walls, and other small details only his mind could spot so fast.

Releasing the air in his lungs, he closed his eyes and stepped outside.

In the courtyard, a horse with rather hefty saddlebags trotted in place while a servant boy brushed its mane.

“Tell me, Marcus, have you ever ridden on a horse?” Linhardt wondered as he walked towards the horse. He heard the doors to his house shut behind him.

“Yeah! Papa got them when we needed to go somewhere fast,” Marcus informed him as he ran to catch up.

“Good. We’re going to share a saddle as we travel. Please try not to fall off.”

“Papa says I need to hold on more.”

Linhardt paused to give Marcus a puzzled, look but shook it off as the kid ran forward.

“Well I hope you have everything you need,” Linhardt spoke as they reached the horse. He nodded at the servant boy who backed off.

Grabbing Marcus under his arms, Linhardt tried to hoist him up.

“Wee!” Marcus cheered as he slowly flew up.

Linhardt grunted as he held the kid to his saddle.

“You’re heavier than you look,” Linhardt commented as he caught his breath.

Soon Linhardt stepped towards the horse and pulled himself up. As he settled in, he heard a loud creak. Looking over his shoulder, Linhardt watched as Maria came running out of the house waving something over her head.

“Milord, don’t forget this!” Maria called to him.

Squinting his eyes, Linhardt tried to identify the dark object.

However, it was Marcus who held out his hands for it.

“My blankie!” Marcus shouted, a panicked look on his face.

Linhardt tilted his head back and let out an exasperated sigh.

Maria came to a halt by the horse, holding the fabric out for Marcus, who immediately grabbed it and hugged it close.

“So cold,” Marcus chimed in as he wrapped it around himself.

“Please let it dry first, milord!” Maria asked but it was too late as Marcus proceeded to wrap himself in it. When the servant saw Linhardt’s raised eyebrow she further explained. “I tried to clean it but there was only so much time after he woke up.”

“Ah, well, I’m sure that was the first time it’s been washed in a long time,” Linhardt spoke, his eyes now on Marcus. “Still, thank you for the gesture. However, it’s time for us to go to Enbarr.”

Maria’s face fell a little at the statement, but she nodded.

“Of course. Have a safe journey, milord.”

“Until we meet again.”

As Linhardt grabbed the reins, Marcus turned to Maria and spoke,“We’re going to see papa!”

Linhardt groaned loudly at that.

“What part of ‘don’t tell anyone’ didn't you understand?” Linhardt asked.

“Oh, right,” Marcus nodded. He looked to Maria and placed a finger over his mouth. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Maria chuckled at the small boy.

Linhardt pinched the bridge of his nose before whipping the reins, leaving the von Hevring estate behind.

\---

A loud creak echoed into the stone dungeon, rousing Caspar from his slumber. His eyes fluttered open to see a guard at the entrance of his cell holding a rusty tray. There wasn’t enough time for him to notice anything else as the guard walked over to a bucket in the corner that reeked of sewage. The guard emptied the tray into it.

“Happy breakfast, Adrestian scum,” the man spat as he walked back to the entrance.

Caspar’s stomach growled almost as loudly as the owner.

“Hey! I’m starving!” Caspar complained. He tried to move, but the chains left him shackled to the wall.

The scowl on the fraud’s face deepened.

“And my friends are dead ‘cause of you.”

A chill ran down Caspar’s spine at the accusation.

“Where were your friends?”

The guard’s malice fell for a second at the question.

“What?”

“Where were your friends that I killed?”

Narrowing his eyes, the guard deposited the tray on a nearby barrel and crossed his arms.

“They were cut down at Ailell.”

Caspar’s expression hardened at that.

“Then I didn't kill ‘em. I’ve never been there.”

The guard’s scoff echoed down the cellblock.

“Bullshit. Your allies-”

“I’m not with the Empire! Just ‘cause I’m Adrestian doesn’t mean I killed every Kingdom soldier,” Caspar cut him off with a shout. “If you’re gonna be pissed at me then get a better reason!”

A silence fell over the dungeon after the small outburst. Another creak from the opposite side of the dungeon caught the attention of all the guards except the one engaging Caspar.

“But you’ve killed my friends, other Kingdom soldiers, have you not?”

Rolling his eyes, Caspar nodded.

“Yeah, along with Adrestians, Alliance soldiers, and bandits that deserved it.”

Like before, the guard fell into a momentary stunned silence.

“D-deserved it? Who are you to decide such things?”

Leaning back against the wall, Caspar let out a sigh.

“I’m a mercenary. That’s my job. I read the contracts and if people were evil, I defeated them. Didn’t matter where they came from.”

As the guard raised a hand, he felt a clap on his shoulder.

“Are you interrogating our prisoner without the prince’s express permission?” Byleth asked, his voice cool and stoic.

The guard straightened up, turning to salute Byleth.

“Ah, professor! Apologies, he goaded me, sir,” the man lied.

Byleth glanced into the cell to see Caspar frowning. However, when their eyes met, Caspar’s face softened.

“I see. Well, I’ll take it from here. May I?”

Byleth held his hand out expectantly.

“Of course, sir.”

The guard reached for his key ring and placed it on the waiting hand.

Quickly but quietly, Byleth walked into the open cell.

Caspar watched as his former teacher strolled in with his usual unreadable expression. Old memories washed over Caspar as butterflies fluttered in his stomach. A pang of regret shot through him when Byleth stopped to observe him.

“Hello, Caspar,” Byleth greeted, stepping closer. He set what looked like a clay pot down on the stone floor with a quiet clank. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

Caspar pressed his lips together.

“You’re the first.”

Goosebumps travelled down Caspar’s skin as Byleth approached, his eyes taking in all parts of him.

“How is your body? It’s been a few days since I last came by.”

The innocuous question stirred Caspar from his own thoughts.

“Huh? Oh the injuries? I’m pretty sore. Wait, have you been healing me?”

Byleth nodded. He closed the distance between them and produced the keys. When he went to unlock the shackle around Caspar’s wrist, the guard from before spoke up.

“Professor, are you sure you should do that while he’s awake? He’s dangerous!” The guard called out, his eyes wide.

Byleth ignored him as he freed Caspar’s hand, continuing to do the same with his other hand and around his neck.

Caspar moved to rub his wrists but winced. His nerves screamed at him. “Ouch!”

“He’s in no condition to fight. And if he were, I’d be fine,” Byleth informed the guard. “Caspar, I’m going to continue treating your wounds, okay?”

The man pulled back from the cell, turning around to mind his duty while Caspar nodded.

“Go ahead, professor. And, uh, thanks.”

A soft chuckle escaped Byleth. Green glowed around his hand as he ran it along the wounds on Caspar’s right arm.

“You should thank Professor Manuella. She operated to save your life after the last battle. I’m just following up to make sure you won’t be handicapped after what Sylvain did.”

Caspar shuddered from the memory, earning another wince of pain.

“Yeah… what happened?”

Warmth spread from the wounds on Caspar’s arm, the previous pain now soothed.

“As I’m told, you fought Felix and won, to which Sylvain took exception. And he beat you. A lot.”

Content with his handiwork, Byleth prodded Caspar’s rib.

“Ah!” Caspar flinched.

“And that wound would’ve killed you if we didn’t operate.”

The same soothing warmth from before replaced the pain at Caspar’s side.

“At least I beat Felix,” Capar chuckled through the pain.

Byleth glanced up and offered his patient a tiny smirk.

“You might’ve grown, but you haven’t changed a bit.”

Caspar grinned back at Byleth.

“You’re one to talk. I heard you died but you look exactly the same. Green hair and all.”

Byleth’s gaze drifted down briefly as he shifted his attention to Caspar’s left hand.

“I was resting. I suppose I took a page from Linhardt.”

At the mention of his childhood friend, Caspar’s smile faltered.

Though there was no visible reaction from Byleth, Caspar felt the professor’s eyes studying him.

“I hope it was a good nap.”

Byleth shrugged, pulling his hands away. Next he reached for Caspar’s neck, causing the prisoner to scoot back.

“There’s a mark from the shackle, I simply wish to take care of that,” Byleth explained, though his eyes softened.

Caspar felt the disappointment from his former teacher. He ran a hand along his neck where he felt the indents from his chains. 

“Okay,” Caspar nodded, allowing his professor to gingerly place his fingers on his neck. The same healing glow dulled the pain in and around his throat.

The conversation lulled while Byleth finished his work. He ran his hands over the old wounds a few more times to treat them, but Caspar felt like an open book.

Once Byleth pulled away, the professor tilted his head.

“Have you been eating? Your bones are showing more than they should, even for someone who's been knocked out for a while.”

At that, Caspar glared at the guard.

“No. Someone’s been throwing most of my food in my toilet,” Caspar frowned, gesturing with his nose to the smelly bucket in the corner.

Byleth pressed his lips together as the guard sputtered back.

“He’s lying, sir! We’ve been-”

“Save your breath. I don’t want to hear excuses.”

The guard straightened up and faced away.

Byleth reached for the clay pot from before, pulling it closer. His hands slipped under his coat and produced two wooden bowls.

Caspar quirked an eyebrow at that.

“Where did you get that? Actually, nevermind. I still don’t know where you stored all our lost stuff,” Caspar pondered. His attention was immediately diverted when Byleth undid the straps securing the lip of the pot.

A hearty aroma filled the cell, causing Caspar’s stomach to growl loudly.

Byleth removed the lid to the pot, revealing a brown broth with vegetables and chunks of meat floating in it. The professor dipped a bowl into it and nearly filled it to the brim. He produced a wooden spoon from his coat and passed it over to Caspar.

“Here, this should help,” Byleth stated matter of factly.

Caspar’s jaw dropped, drool pooling his mouth while Byleth got himself a bowl.

“Wh-are you sure?”

Giving a slight nod, Byleth stirred his own stew.

“Yes, that’s why I had it made.”

Staring at the stew, Caspar bit his dried lip. When he saw the professor, take a bite he gave into his hunger. He shoveled a spoonful into mouth and paused to savor the flavor for only a moment. Then his body took over.

What little of Caspar’s manners remained disappeared along with the food in the bowl. He inhaled the stew while the Professor calmly ate his own. Before he could even ask for seconds, Byleth took the empty bowl without a word and refilled it. They repeated this process until the professor finished his bowl and Caspar emptied his fourth.

A loud burp escaped Caspar while Byleth contained his. It wasn't until the aftertaste that Caspar noticed the various herbs and spices used in his meal. His mind found itself back in the dining hall at Garreg Mach devouring this stew under much different circumstances.

Caspar’s heart squeezed at the memories and something pricked at his eyes.

“That was delicious, professor,” Caspar replied, his voice strained.

“I’ll pass your compliments to the chef. Ashe will be happy to hear that.”

An icy dagger plunged into Caspar’s chest, almost cancelling out the warmth of the stew.

“A-Ashe made this?”

Byleth nodded, tilting his head at Casapr.

“Yes. He practically jumped at the chance.”

Caspar audibly swallowed the last of the meal in his mouth.

“Really?”

Nodding again, Byleth covered the pot and resealed it.

“Yes. If he weren’t forbidden I’m sure he’d visit. Despite the circumstances, you still have friends here.”

Caspar lowered his head, his expression falling.

“Friends… right.”

“Indeed. As much as I enjoy your company, I have other duties I must attend to. I’ll be by again to examine your injuries,” Byleth informed Caspar, standing back up and dusting himself off. He glanced down at his half naked student’s dreadful appearance. “You should know that Seteth has sent an emissary to Enbarr to negotiate a prisoner exchange. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. But if you wish to remain here and perhaps join us-”

Upon hearing those words, Caspar interrupted with a hoarse voice.

“I can’t, professor.”

Byleth furrowed his brow, but didn’t elaborate more.

“I see. Well, see you soon.”

With that, Byleth turned to leave. He shut the door behind him, locking the door with the key ring. He handed them back to the guard.

“Uh, professor? You forgot to recuff the prisoner,” the guard spoke, glancing back into the cell.

Shaking his head, Byleth continued walking.

“I didn’t forget anything. Leave him be.”

Caspar scooted back against the stone wall, the harsh texture poking his back through the threadbare blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Though he remained quiet, the prickling sensation from around his eyes increased until silent tears ran down his cheeks. His mind focused on a faint memory of freckled smiles, twisting stomach into a knot.

When Byleth opened the door to the dungeon, he paused as a tiny blur of black and white rushed in. He nodded to the cat as it shot down the hallway.

None of the guards made any attempt to stop the kitty as it slipped between the bars of Caspar’s cell. He found his way to Caspar’s side, climbing into his lap without any hesitation.

Caspar smiled weakly at the cat.

“Hey, Kyphon. You wouldn’t believe who made me food today,” Caspar whispered to the cat, wiping his tears on the rough fabric.

“Mrowr!” Kyphon meowed back, purring in Caspar’s grasp.

Smiling at his pet, Caspar shook his head. He reached for the cat’s collar and played with the silver tag on the end.

“Yeah, I guess you aren’t the only person here happy to see me. Now let’s loosen this. Don’t want you choking on it.”

Caspar moved to unclasp the collar and readjust the tightness.

\---

“And you have a beautiful day- I mean wonderful day!” The shopkeeper squeaked, her face tinting red.

“After speaking to someone so beautiful, how could it not be wonderful?” Sylvain wondered, winking at the poor shopkeeper. His banter only served to darken her blush.

“H-H-Here,” she replied, pushing the wrapped package across the counter.

Making a small show of picking it up, Sylvain leaned down and grabbed it.

“All the gold as requested, and then some for that charming- ah!”

Sylvain found himself being tugged back by his ear, face scrunching from the pain.

“Come on, idiot,” Felix ordered, dragging his older friend to the door of the store.

“Ow, Felix! You can let go!”

Felix didn’t do as requested until the door dinged shut behind them. When he released Sylvain, his friend went to rub his aching ear.

Sylvain opened his mouth to retort but no words escaped him when he saw the anger in Felix’s face.

“I agreed to accompany you to town for shopping, not flirting,” Felix stated coldly. “If you wish to find some girl to wet your whistle while your hand is infirmed then do it without me.”

Sylvain blushed a bit at Felix’s statement but he kept a smile on his face.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself. I was just trying to compliment her.”

Felix rolled his eyes at Sylvain.

“If she wished for a compliment she wouldn’t be working behind the counter at a bookstore,” Felix shook his head. He stepped forward and retrieved the wrapped package from Sylvain. He made sure to avoid tugging too hard with Sylvain’s left arm still in a sling.

“Fine, fine, point taken. We had a deal after, I suppose.”

Those words caused Felix to freeze for a moment, but he nodded.

“Correct. Now, care to tell me why you’re buying all these niknaks instead of doing something more productive?”

Glancing around the street, Sylvain observed the busy area. The smell of freshly baked goods wafter into his nose, indistinct chatter from all the citizens in the monastery’s town reached his ears, yet it was the clanging of metal on metal that caused him to perk up.

“Sure, but let's go this way.”

“Now where are we going?”

Felix followed after Sylvain who darted into the crowd.

“Getting one more item and I’ll be done. I’ll have everything I need to fulfill his Majesty’s request. Besides, you should actually like this place.”

Furrowing his brow, Felix trailed Sylvain all the way to the source of clanging metal. He stopped outside a smoky building where a man stood under an awning, banging a hammer against an anvil.

“What do you mean? What are you doing?”

Chuckling slightly, Sylvain walked over to a barrel and began to inspect some of the weapons laying inside. He nodded at the blacksmith who continued to work on his current piece.

“I’m getting some bait. If we wish to catch some thieves we’re going to need something they want. Something like this.”

Sylvain pulled a sword from the bucket, pointing it dramatically at Felix.

Narrowing his eyes at the blade, Felix shook his head.

“Nope.”

Dropping his arm slightly, Sylvain’s grin shrunk.

“No?”

“No. If you’re looking for quality then we’re going to need to look at the good blades. Anything in there is fitting for a squire or bandits.”

A roar of deep laughter came from the blacksmith, the man setting the red hot metal in a bucket. Steam blew from the bucket as he stopped forward.

“Got an eye for quality, do ya? I can take you to the other weapons but I warn you, the price matches the craftsmanship,” the blacksmith informed them.

Setting the weapon back into the bucket, Sylvain’s usual grin returned in full force.

“Of course, money isn’t a problem for a noble such as myself. The army shall have only the best!” Sylvain declared, earning a slap on the shoulder from Felix. “Ouch!”

“Don’t flaunt it, idiot,” Felix warned, glancing around the crowd.

Dropping his facade for a moment while they followed the blacksmith, Sylvain whispered back, “It's part of the act. If they know the Church has goods then we can find our rats faster.”

Felix’s frown deepened but he left the conversation at that.

The pair walked into the blacksmith’s shop where weapons of all kinds hung from the walls.

“Here you will find only the best, forged by some of the best, myself included,” he declared with a smile.

While Sylvain’s eyes bounced around the various weapons, Felix honed in on one particular sword. The Fraldarius heir approached a sword, partially unsheathed, his eyes focused on a mark near the hitl of the blade.

“Find something, Felix?” Sylvain asked as he appraised a random axe.

“This can’t be…” Felix mumbled, turning his attention to the grinning blacksmith. “Is this truly a sword of Zoltan?”

The blacksmith scratched his beard, nodding.

“You are a true connoisseur. Yes, that is one of his legendary blades.”

Sylvain stepped over, observing the weapon.

“Really? Doesn’t look special?” He commented.

Sylvain saw a shadow rapidly approaching from the side of his vision, barely ducking under the strike. Tracing the movement back, he saw a visibly annoyed Felix.

“Don’t insult this blade, Sylvain. It’s worth far more than any harlot you’ve bedded,” Felix growled. “And by far more useful.”

“Really? It can’t-” Sylvain began to reply until he saw the price tag. “Oh Sothis, that is a lot of zeros!”

“These blades are far and few between, made with incredible care and precision. Even the Boar recognizes their value.”

Nodding a bit, Sylvain straightened himself.

“That may be so, but this is much more than I’m willing to pay.”

“Sylvain? Gautier?” The blacksmith asked. He walked behind the counter and began to rifle through a trunk the boys couldn’t see.

“That depends? Is some girl asking?” Sylvain questioned back, slowly turning his body for the door.

“Hm? No. It’s funny that I caught you though. Your professor left a rather important time here for me to fix. Your lance,” The blacksmith said, laying some pieces on the counter. “I thought you should know I’m making progress, but it’s still going to take some time.”

Upon seeing his family’s weapon, Sylvain’s stomach fell. Memories of Gronder returned to him and robbed him of his smile.

“I see… How long are we talking?”

Felix stared at the Lance of Ruin, frowning.

“Perhaps two weeks, maybe three? There are lots of fragments to reattach and it takes time and a special technique,” The shopkeeper informed him.

“I might have forgo a battle then, so be it. Thanks for the update.”

“I do have one other weapon that might be of interest,” the blacksmith continued, laying another blade on the counter. Unlike the other weapons, this blade practically shined. “I couldn’t help but overhear your earlier dilemma. In fact, your professor mentioned it in passing but I couldn’t find this in time before he left.”

Before Sylvain could reply, Felix approached the counter to stare at the weapon. Wordlessly he picked up the blade and went wide-eyed.

“This is a worthless weapon,” Felix stated.

The blacksmith nodded.

“Yes, which might be perfect for what you wish to do. It looks like a silver sword but is a counterfeit someone tried to sell me once upon a time. I have no use for it so perhaps it can help the army.”

Sylvain crossed his arms and bit his bottom lip.

“That would suit our purposes perfectly. Even if it gets taken it can do little harm. How much for it?” Sylvain agreed.

“It's on the house, I have no use for it. Let’s call it a contribution to the war effort,” the man chuckled.

Shrugging his shoulders, Felix attached it to his hip.

“I’ll be sure to let the Church know of your generous donation,” Sylvain winked.

Felix glared at him, but the blacksmith paid him no mind.

The pair left the building, pausing in the middle of the busy street.

“Let’s see… Book, spices, sword, and tea. I think that covers my bases,” Sylvain rattled off, counting a finger with each item.

Felix shook his head, but he perked up when a gentle fragrance floated beneath his nose. He turned his head while he replied.

“All you’re missing is an artifact or potions,” Felix added.

Sylvain’s eyes widened at the suggestion.

“Oh, good point. I can get those- whoa!”

As Sylvain replied, he felt a force bump him from behind. He lurched forward, losing his footing.

“What the-?”

Felix turned in time to catch Sylvain in his arms, though his eyes stared at what impacted his friend.

On the ground a brown haired kid rubbed his head.

“Ow…” He mumbled.

Three other kids stopped by him, skidding to a halt together.

“Come on!” The lone blonde girl in the group shouted as a white haired kid helped the boy to his feet.

“Get back here you brats!” An angry man shouted, turning the corner further down the street.

“Run!” The brown haired boy shouted as the four ran further down the street.

Felix squinted at the kids but turned his attention back to Sylvain. Much to his chagrin, he found Sylvain’s head on his chest, staring up at him expectantly. Realization dawned on Felix when he realized his arms were wrapped around his childhood friend.

Sylvain found himself thrust back up and Felix ejected him from his personal space. To his surprise, there was a dusting of pink on Felix’s cheeks.

Offering his friend a smirk, Sylvain commented, “Good catch.”

“I assure you, much like yourself, it was entirely an accident,” Felix quipped, earning an offended scoff from his friend. It was then that the familiar smell from before reached Felix’s nose again.

“Hey, don’t go telling lies, Felix. You’re going to hurt my reputation,” Sylvain retorted with feigned offense.

“You’ve done a fine job of that by yourself,” Felix disagreed as his eyes fell upon the source of the delightful fragrance. “And you’re about to pay me back for this particular outing.”

Tilting his head in confusion, Sylvain followed Felix’s gaze towards a small shop with many colorful flowers out front.

“And how am I going to do that?”

“By putting some of that useless knowledge of flora to work. I hope it extends beyond romantic drivel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have our brief timeskip~
> 
> Dedue and Ashe are a fun pair to write together and I'm glad Ashe has at least one friend in my story. Lots of POVs were seen as we prepare for the calm before the storm.
> 
> As always, I appreciate all comments and feedback. I like hearing people's takes on my writing and the characters since we've seen quite a bit. And I hope some eagle eyed people are noticing some of the groundwork being laid for future chapters :D

**Author's Note:**

> I wondered what a child of Caspar and Ashe would look like and this spawned from that thought. It wasn't entirely clear but Ashe and Caspar are actually in different classes and Byleth leads the Blue Lions. this was so much fun to write if only because it felt like a fun character study with Linhardt and Caspar, as well as Caspar and Ashe. There will be much more Ashe in the future I swear.
> 
> Please let me know what you think and if you'd be curious to see where the story goes as I have a few ideas.


End file.
